Pedophilia Excerpts
from Mainstream Novels
Collected by Akabax

Preface

I have collected this fine collection of pedophilia excerpts. Some of them are digitized from libratry books, others are taken from book collections on the internet, such as Google Books and Gutenberg.org

Other naughty extracts from mainstream novels would also be pretty nice. Sex scenes, rape scenes, etc. However, I don't have the time for that.

I would like to point out that the following excerpts are, of course, all fictive. I strongly condemn any kind of sexual relations between children and adults. It is the worst kind of child abuse.

- Akabax

Contact

If you have found any extracts of your own that you want to share, or just want to drop me a comment, use this form:

Table of Content

Thanatos Syndrome - Walker Percy

Perjury - Stan Latreille

Journey into Light: The Story of Linda - Lydia A Whipple

Bongwater - Michael Hornburg

In the Care of Evil: A Foster Child's Brutal Tale of Sex, Violence, Greed, and Betrayal - Dewey Reynolds

The Druid - Sam Stewart

Dancing Bear - Chaim Bermant

The Sojourner - Kenneth B. Frank

The Ice Storm - The Ice Storm

Labor - Christopher Albanese, Brett

Serpent in the Stars - Hemant Balvantrao Kulkarni

Angel Lust: An Erotic Novel of Time Travel - Perry Brassg

Of Preachers and Pagans - David Davis

Adam's Theories - Dana Hodgdon

Princess Daisy - Judith Krantz

The Ninja: A Novel - Eric Van Lustbader

Vengeance - Ian St. James

Red Chrysanthemum - Laura Joh Rowland

La Donna Detroit: A Detective Sergeant Mulheisen Mystery - Jon A. Jackson

Børn kan altid sove - Jannick Storm

21 Dage i Juli - Kasper Ginning

Flossie i Bombay - Jack Ancher

Thanatos Syndrome

Walker Percy

Page 315

"I understand. And there's not time now."

"Don't worry. I have these cassettes. We can look at them later." He does not know how to tell me.

"I understand, but I need to know now what you saw. I'm afraid you're going to have to tell me directly. I know you have a great sense of propriety, but I have to know what you mean when you say that Mr. Brunette was with Mrs. Brunette but not in the regular way and about the two little girls. Ricky cannot hear us."

"Right," says Vergil, appearing to take thought, but falls silent.

"Goddamn it, tell me, Vergil. This is important."

"All right. Mrs. Brunette was sucking off Mr. Brunette with the two little girls placed in such a way that they could watch, don't you know."

"I see. And Dr. Van Dorn?"

"Oh. Well, he had this child and he was holding her like - Oh. I also picked up these stills." He is leaning over, fishing in his jacket pocket. "I had to grab what I could."

"Stills?"

In the space on the sofa where Ricky was sitting and out of sight of Ricky, Vergil carefully lines up half a dozen glossy 5x7 photographs, taking care to place them at an angle so I can see them easily and he has to slant his head. Vergil is finding it useful to be overly considerate. There is only time to catch a glimpse of the Coach and Mrs. Cheney, Mrs. on all fours, naked, the coach behind her, also naked and kneeling, torso erect above her, and Mr. Brunette keeling at a young man, not Claude, and Van Dorn lying on his back holding a child aloft as a father might dandle his daughter except that-when there are two knocks at the door, too sharp for knuckles, either boot heel or gun butt.

I sweep up the photos, slip them under the plastic cushion.

Page 322-4

"Okay, gang!" says Van Dorn briskly, and would have clapped his hands, I think, if he wasn't holding his pipe. "I don't know about y'all but I got a school to run. If there's nothing else. Doctor?"-with a slight formal bow to me, eyes fond but distant.

The others are on their feet instantly, following Van Dorn to the door.

"Only these." I spread the photos on the plywood table between the sofas.

Van Dorn and the others are looking down at the glossies on their way out, heads politely aslant to see them better, as one might look at the photos of a guest fresh from a trip to Disney World. I too have the first good look at them.

There are six Photographs.

There are details which I missed in my earlier, cursory glance.

In the photograph of Mrs. Cheney on all fours, Coach at her from the rear, Mrs. Cheney's head is partially hidden between the bare legs of a young person who is supine and whose head and chest are not in the picture. It is not clear whether the young person is a boy or a girl.

In the photograph of Mr. Brunette kneeling at a youth, the youth has both hands on Mr. Brunette's carefully barbered head, as if he were steering it, and is gazing down at him with an expression which is both agreeable and incurious. Mr. Brunette's bare shoulder are surprisingly frail, the skin untanned.

In the photograph of Van Dorn dandling the child, the child is shown to have been penetrated but only by Van Dorn's glans and certainly not painfully, because the child, legs kicked up, is looking toward the camera with a demure, even prissy, expression. Her legs are kicking up in pleasure.

The fourth photograph depicts a complex scene: Coach penetrating, anally and evidently completely, a muscular youth, not Claude, upon whom Mrs. Brunette, supine, is also performing fellatio.

The fifth photograph depicts Van Dorn entering an older girl, perhaps eleven or twelve, again by holding her above him, again by no means completely. Again the girl is gazing at the camera, almost dutifully, like a cheerleader in a yearbook photo, as if to signify that all is well.

The sixth photograph, perhaps the oddest, depicts Van Dorn performing, it appears, cunnilingus upon Mrs. Brunette, he seated in a chair, she astraddle and borne high upon his folded arms, but not entirely unclothed, while on the floor behind them, sitting in a small semicircle, clothed, ankles crossed, arms around knees, faces blank-in the archaic pose of old group photographs-are half a dozen junior-high students. Two or three, instead of paying attention to the tableau, are mugging a bit for the camera, as if they were bored, yet withal polite.

Perjury

Stan Latreille

Page 215-6

She appeared less rigid, but she stared past me out the window.

"Share this with me," she said in that voice from the netherworld. "A little girl fucking her father when she is just seven years old-or even younger-"

"Davey, you don't have to-"

"You want to know why I don't trust anyone-not even you? Why I rely on no one but myself? You said you wanted to share this with me, remember?"

"Yes, but why-"

"You must hear it. You asked to share. Maybe you can really share it, take some of it on you, but I doubt it. Did you know-no, I suppose Andrea didn't tell you-that when I was eight my father brought home a vibrator that he taught me to use so that he could watch me pleasure myself? And when I was only ten he got a dildo so that my vagina could be stretched to the right size for his comfort and convenience. How about that, Jack? Are you sharing all this?" She did not wait for an answer. I sat and listened, telling myself that I could take it, that I was no stranger to such horrors.

"Where was my mother? She was right there. Oh, not standing over the bed watching us, but she knew. She knew all right. My mother, from whose flesh I am made, she let it happen. When I was five I went to her and told her about Daddy and me, not ashamed or injured, but bragging as one rival to another. I was stealing Daddy away from her, I thought. And she told me that I was dreaming, that it had never happened.

"Later, when I was six or seven, and he hurt me, I complained to my mother and she got angry and told me that I was a silly girl who was making up bad stories and that if I was not careful she would wash my mouth out with soap."

"Don't, Davey, please don't," I whispered.

"They say that some girls grow up and can't remember. Well, I remember everything. No blocking out for me. I remember details, lots of details."

Journey into Light:
The Story of Linda

Lydia A Whipple

Page 177-8

Virginia took a drink of her coke. "One night he came in and I knew he was really going to give it to me. He was really mad at Ma. She had gone to town, to the bar in Bingen. He grabbed me and tore my nightgown off. Then he turned me over and really gave me a beating. God, it hurt so bad. Then he grabbed me and hugged me, telling me that he loved me and would show me how much. He laid me on my back; I think I was about six or seven at this time. He unzipped his trouser and shook them off along with his shoes, socks and shirt. Then he got in bed with me. He rubbed my vagina for a long time. He kept telling me it wouldn't hurt. He stuck his finger into my hole and pushed it deep inside then he'd pull it out. He did this for a while and then had me take his thing in my hand." Virginia stopped long enough to take a deep, shaky drink of her coke.

Linda watched her face. She wanted to make sure she was getting it all and was getting it right.

"What do you mean, his thing?" she asked.

"I mean his penis. He made me take his penis in my hands and rub and rub it. Once in a while this white stuff would come out and he would breathe really hard. The he'd make me dress and go back to bed. He'd leave and go to his and Ma's room. This might he turned over and made me open my legs wide. Then he got between them and put his penis against my vagina and pushed it in. He grabbed my legs and put them on his chest so that he had better entry. Just before he really went in, he put his hand over my mouth so I couldn't scream. God it hurt. I screamed, but no one could hear me. After that it happened at least once a week, sometimes more. It all depended on if he got mad at Ma."

Virginia laid her head on her arms that had been folded over her drawn up knees. She was sobbing, deep tormented sobs. "One night, while he was doing it, I looked over at the door and Ma was standing there watching. I must have been ten at the time. She undressed right there and came to lie on my bed beside me. Pa stopped and looked at her smiling. Then he began to pump again. This time he bent toward Ma and took her breasts in his mouth and sucked and sucked. Having both of us really excited him. It must have excited Ma, too, because she would join us every time after that. At supper they would plan what we were going to do that night. Sometimes they'd pretend to argue and Ma would leave angry and fast. Later she'd return after Pa had beaten me and had me in bed and ready for her. She'd crawl in and pretend to be angry with him for what he was doing. I couldn't go anywhere or do anything with anyone but them. They were afraid I would tell someone about what they did."

"The night I went home with you they'd planned a surprise for me. I just wanted to be normal once, just once. I wanted to have friends. I didn't want to have sex with my ma and pa. When ma got me home there was this old man there with them. He had theses beady black eyes. When I walked in he came right over to me and began to undress me. Then he beat me for not coming home when I was supposed to. Ma and Pa laid a quilt on the floor in the front room and built a fire. The old man made me lay down on top of his and he fingered me until Pa came. Pa got on his knees in front of us. He guided the old man's penis into my butt. Thank God it was a tiny thing. It still hurt very badly. Pa put his in my vagina and Ma sat on the old man's face, while Pa grabbed her tits and massaged them, bit them and sucked on them. It XXX all night. I finally went while Ma was screwing me with her fingers and sucking on the old man and Pa doing his thing in her. They decided they would do this more often and I decided I had to get outta there."

Bongwater

Michael Hornburg

Page 48

I went up to my room and opened the door. Tony was kneeling on my mattress, panty hose pulled down to his knees, his baby blue dress lifted and a naked boy devouring his cock. White light from the hallway spread over them.

"Out!" I yelled.

The naked boy jumped up, blushing nervously, picked up his clothes, and hurried past me. Tony acted put out, pulled up his nylons, and left the room. "Party pooper," he said in passing.

In the Care of Evil:
A Foster Child's Brutal Tale of Sex, Violence, Greed, and Betrayal

Dewey Reynolds

Page 101-5

Since Valerie knew that she had to go to bed, she moved over to Vincent, who was on the verge of being totally asleep, and shook him across. "Vincent, get up and go to the basement."

Carmen jumped in as though Valerie and offended her. "Don't worry about Vincent. I'll make sure he gets to bed. You just carry yourself upstairs and get in bed."

She pointed to the top of the stairs. Valerie was frightened by the sudden uproar in Carmen's voice. She rushed upstairs and everyone had cleared the front room. Vincent remained on the floor. Still, he fought to stay awake. Several minutes had passed and Carmen decided to shake him a few times. "Come upstairs," Carmen instructed Vincent, tightly wrapping her hand around the back of his shirt.

"Why do I have to go upstairs?" Vincent asked. "I thought I was supposed to go to the basement."

"Not tonight."

"That's where me and Vernon go when it's bedtime."

Carmen didn't need a reminder of where he slept. Tonight, there would be a change of plans. "Come on upstairs." She jerked him by the arm and pointed to the top of the stairs.

"Why?"

"Bring your high yellow ass upstairs, boy!" Carmen got her point across by squeezing him tighter.

Vincent stood up and they walked up to the second floor. Carmen told him to stand near the linen closet. She cautiously closed the door to Valerie's room, who was stretched out in her bed, with her head planted in the pillow. Braun and Junior were in the room next door snoring like two grizzly bears during hibernation season.

Carmen saw that everyone was sleeping rather heavily. A perfect time to make her move. She grabbed Vincent by the waist and they journed into the bathroom. The lock was turned quickly to minimize the clicking noise of the metal slot. She guided him over by the toilet. The lid was placed down and Vincent took a seat on top. Carmen moved him against the head of the bathtub. She gently lifted his shirt up and pulled his pants and underwear down. He may have fallen asleep earlier, but was presently in for the rudest awakening.

"What we are about to do," Carmen said, pointing her wavering finger to the middle of his yes, "You better not tell anybody. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Vincent answered frightfully.

"I'm serious, boy!" she snarled, sounding as though she was making a death threat.

She told Vincent to lift up his feet while she removed his socks and shoes. The question that entered Vincent's mind was, Why is she undressing me?"

He was almost certain that Carmen wasn't about to give him a bath, especially during that time of night. Once she fully undressed him, he glanced around the uniquely decorated bathroom. It was painted sky blue with an assortment of scented soaps and monogrammed terry towels. Bessie Mae and J.D. were always given first priority to this bathroom.

Carmen began undressing herself. It was the very beginning of the nineteen seventies and many Negro teens around America were wearing large afros, bellybutton pants, thick heeled platform shoes, polyester shirts with large butterfly collars, and bead necklaces. Many emulated their style form the dancer on the popular musical television show Soul Train. Carmen simply wore straight permed hair, straight leg jeans or polyester pants, and button up or pullover shirts. She simply dressed Chi-town style.

Six and a half year old Vincent was absolutely astonished. He sat there watching his older foster sister undress herself.

She unbuttoned her shirt, removed her bra, pulled down her tight rayon pants, along with a pair of white silk panties with pink flower designs, and threw of her shoes and socks. It was phenomenally mind-blowing that a six year old and underdeveloped by, and an sixteen year old and fully developed teenage girl, were in the bathroom of a foster home on Milwaukee Parkway standing before one another in the total nude.

Vincent was not only underdeveloped in the body, but was also underdeveloped in the mind. As he stood between a toilet and a bathtub, he couldn't figure out why he was in the nude. Carmen stood directly to his right. A set of full breasts, widened hips, a bush of pubic hair around the vagina, and shapely buttocks, gave Carmen the secondary sexual characteristics of most fully developed teenage girls.

She sat in front of Vincent on the stool. Her fingers ran along her pussy until they became moist. This was her own form of arousing foreplay. Carmen Taylor was definitely in heat! Vincent watched her run both hands from her pussy to the split that began at the opening of her ass. A mild, but musty genital scent filled the entire bathroom. Carmen was happy to have come off her menstrual circle. She became extremely aroused and grabbed Vincent closer. She slammed her tongue down his little mouth.

For Vincent, it was an early lesson in tongue kissing. Maybe French kissing. He was pressed against her full-figured body. Her tongue vigorously twirled around his tongue, teeth, and gums. Loud slurping sounds echoed off the bathroom walls. With the palm of Vincent's small hands, Carmen massaged her large breast nipples. Her nipples had arisen and appeared as two ripe olives. She opened her legs and pressed him between them. She worked up a soaking sweat and eventually achieved a strong orgasm. As sweat dripped from her drenched body, she seductively cried, "I came! I came!"

She was breathing like the weight of the universe had come off her shoulders. The heartpounding orgasm was her first ever and the feeling was more than exhilarating. For her, it was a fantasy come true. The friction between their saturated bodies cause slapping sounds. Carmen wanted Vincent to become aroused. Both of her hands massaged his tiny penis in vertical motions. Her efforts to bring on an erection was senseless. She didn't know that she was trying to have sex with a six year old boy who hadn't reached the early stages of puberty. She gently caressed and massaged the head of his small penis. Vincent never even developed a slight erection.

"Oh yeah!" Carmen cried pleasurably, about to enter another orgasmic stage. "It feels so good to me! It feels so good to me!"

The sexual atmosphere in the bathroom was electrifying. Carmen held Vincent tightly and asked, "Do it feel good to you, Vincent?"

"Yes," Vincent nodded shyly, not knowing anything about sexual intercourse.

"Do you like it, Vincent?"

"Yes," he said, frightened senselessly.

"Do you love it, Vincent?"

"Yes."

"Shove your little dick into my tight wet pussy!" Carmen said, traveling into a world of inhibited raw sex. "Say you like it, baby!"

"I like it," Vincent repeated nervously, his little heart beating fast.

"Say you love it, baby!"

"I love it," Vincent responded, hoping the madness would end soon.

"Say you want more!" Carmen said, allowing the sexual ecstasy to take total control.

"I want more."

More than twenty minutes had passed and Carmen and Vincent were still engaged in teenage girl to little boysexual intercourse. She had both arms locked around his tiny neck. Her wide legs were wrapped around his lower body. The moisture from her dark lips smeared onto his thin red lips. Slapping and smacking noises traveled into the steamy air. His small penis slipped from in between her well-defined legs. Carmen knew that Vincent was too small and her pussy was too large. She lifted his head and looked him directly in his fearful eyes. In a voice that had a serious tone, she said, "I love high-yellow boys like you. I love this pretty curly hair that you have. I love these little juicy red lips that you have. I love everything about you, Vincent!"

The Druid

Sam Stewart

Page 14

Mathew and Tommy had to share the same bed in the little room at the back of the house, overlooking the park. It was Tommy who initiated the activity. They were allowed to sleep in their underpants and their pajama tops. After jumping into bed, they'd often have a pillow fight, then turn off the lights and settle down. They'd discuss the girls at school. Tommy said he was once in the girls' toilet and the girls were sitting on the toilet with their knickers down.

Matthew squirmed, "You did not!"

After a while, he felt Tommy's small hand creep across the sheets and touch him on the stomach. Matthew would move a bit, half asleep. The hand pulled away. Soon it came back again. This time Matthew didn't move, but he could feel his Adam's Apple moving, making his ears click as he gulped to keep his mouth from drying. Tommy's hand moved down, finger by finger, to Matthew's underpants. Now his little 'thing' was beginning to grow so that it pushed out his little black underpants. Tommy's hand was now gripping Matthew's little growth and gently pulling on it. Emboldened, Matthew now turned round to face the back of Tommy's head and moved his hand over to Tommy's bum and worked his way inside the underpants to the warmth and mystery. Tommy moaned and turned round to face Matthew, his hand cupping the small penis and testicles half recessed in the big bones down there. They both pulled and rubbed wordlessly in the dark, eyes firmly shut, half expecting something to happen. Bored after a while Tommy would turn round to face the wall and feign sleep. Matthew, gripped by anticipation, weaseled his hand between Tommy's thighs till he reached his little testicles and penis, which was smaller than his. Matthew pulled it down and then let it go so that it sprang up again. He liked to let his hand stay there while they went to sleep.

It remained their unspoken, exciting game until Tommy's mother, without any evidence of concern in her voice, suggested that Matthew, now thirteen, should go home at night. Tommy, by this time, was playing football with the other boys at school and told Matthew he liked to see the girls who came to watch and cheer. That had no appeal for Matthew so he found himself spending more time in solitary pursuits.

Dancing Bear

Chaim Bermant

Page 139

She had been lying out in the grass at the back of the sanatorium playing with a child. It was a hot summer's day, her skirt was pulled up and she had provoked his first erection. The memory of the scene, he added, gave him an erection even now.

The Sojourner

Kenneth B. Fran

Page 58

In the 1030's nobody talked about sex, not in polite society. Women swallowed watermelon seeds or were visited by storks or were mysteriously in a family way. Body parts and body functions were not mentioned except by the use of cute euphemisms. Toy toy. Wee wee. Dokey. Powder my nose. Tallywhacker. In spite of it all, Frank somehow got the most important message of all: a female had nothing between her neck and her knees, and if she did it was nasty. Forget about it. Frank, therefore, wasted few of his fantasies on the difference between boys and girls. With nothing under their dresses, 'they must look pretty funny without their clothes' was the extent of his conjecture. High in his perch, lying supine, on a clear summer's afternoon, surveying his kingdom and relishing the ethereal searches of the infinite sky, he heard his brother's voice below.

"You can't come up. This is a private tree house."

"Why not?" A strange boyish voice inquired. "We wanna be friends. Besides, I got something I betchu'd like to see."

The two brothers who helped build the mansion in the sky, consequently claiming an ersatz proprietary interest, were present; and would be accounted for.

Bobby, the younger, spoke in his toughest nine-year-old snarl. "Whatcha got to show us."

"We have to come up first," the interloper insisted.

"Not till we know what it is." Billy, the elder, at eleven, was laying down the law.

"Wait just a minute here," Jim Stewart interjected. "It's my tree house, I decide who and when."

"We helped build it," the brothers chorused in unison.

"it's my tree house," the adamant twelve-year-old Jim Stewart, older, wiser, and probably more powerful, insisted.

Lying on his back, Frank was apathetic concerning the territorial power struggle below, Let 'em up; don't let 'em up. Who cares But his curiosity was titillated by the next exchange.

"Give us a hint, or maybe we'll let you up," Jim offered.

"It's between my sister's legs," the spokesman said.

Undecipherable but obviously excited murmuring could be heard among the three territorial defenders.

"You can come up," Jim Stewart announced, "but you better not be kidding or we'll throw you our head first and your sister with you. We generally don't let girls up here, but we're making an exception because of what you said."

As the older brother climbed the ladder before his nine-year-old sister, Frank rolled over to a prone position and peeked over the edge.

Bart, the newcomer, introduced himself and his sister, Sandy, and said, "Hey, this is a swell tree house."

"Yeah, now show us what you said," Billy demanded.

"Yeah," Bobby eagerly agreed.

"You think my sister is gonna show off just for climbing up in a tree house? Hell, there's more to it than that." Bart was still doing all the talking.

He said a bad word, Frank thought, and hoped God did not strike the tree with lightning.

"What else you want?" From Jim Stewart, suspiciously.

"Well, I notice you got a peach tree back there. And I like peaches an awful lot."

"I do too," the girl spoke for the first time, nodding her head excitedly.

Jim was ready to deal. "How many peaches to show?"

"One for each of us," Bart responded without consulting his sister.

"Okay, one each," Jim agreed. "But she has to show first."

"Show 'em your cunt," Bart commanded.

Sandy, sitting Indian style, pulled her skirt high, calmly hooked a finger in the crotch of her cotton panties, and pulled the fabric aside. The three voyeurs gawked with wide-eyes at the tiny shadow where a penis should have been, proving that Sandy was not a boy.

"Wow, neat," Bobby said.

"Yeah, man," Billy said.

"Pretty good," Jim agreed nervously, eyeballing the driveway and hoping his mother did not come home unexpectedly.

From his vantage point Frank could see little, but there was little to see. It proved that girls did have something between their neck and their knees, even if it was nothing. This was a momentous step in his education - but he didn't know why.

Bart asked proudly. "Think that's worth two peaches?"

"You're damn right," Billy said.

"Go get the peaches, Sandy," Her brother told her.

When the girl was gone, Bart asked the others, "How'd you like a piece of that?"

"Yeah," Billy and Bobby said together.

"I guess so," Jim hedged.

"Well, she don't put out for free. Everyone that wants her can have her for two peaches each," Bart negotiated.

"But we don't have a peach tree," Billy said.

"Borrow some. I betcha Jim'll loan you some."

"Sure," Jim said, "Let's go in the garage."

"What's a piece?" The voice came from the lookout.

"You'll find out," Bobby, a mere year older than frank, told him.

This might be worth watching, Frank decided, scampering from his perch. He for sure would have to know what a piece was, though, before committing to wanting one.

In the garage, without fanfare, Sandy lowered her panties to her knees, leaned against the wall with her skinny pelvis thrust forward, and bit into a peach. Billy and Bobby, not bothering to lower their own pants, each in turn took his small penis in hand, approached the girl, and briefly touched her for a second at or near the place where "IT" is done.

"Wow," Billy gasped. "That's really something."

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "Try it, Jim."

"I better not."

The eleven-year-old pimp encouraged the Stewart siblings. He wanted four more peaches.

"Go ahead guys. It won't hurt your or her. I get at piece of her ten or fifteen times a day myself."

The well indoctrinated Stewart brothers declined.

The Ice Storm

Rick Moody

Side 149

And they rubbed their chests together, the tips of her breasts, just beginning to be breasts, and then they worked on the rest of their clothes. Wendy carefully pulled off ski pants and panties all at once - so that she could conceal the soiled garter belt, the one she had taken from Mike's room. Sandy was too preoccupied with his own nakedness to notice. - Get 'em off, she said to him, laughing at the sound of haste. Laughing at her own forthrightness. And pretty soon they were naked. His little soldier was at sharpest attention, like G. 1. Joe with Lifelike Hair back when he was among the living. - Under covers, Wendy said. Sandy threw back the comforter and they slid under it. Sandy laughed again, and Wendy laughed, and the laughter was good. She took his hairless penis in her hand, and she cupped his hairless testicles, and she kissed his nipples, and they rolled around like that for a while. - Have you had a nocturnal emission? she asked. - Huh? - That's the name for when you wake up and find this little pool of sticky stuff. Supposedly like after a sexy dream. He shook his head. - They didn't tell you this stuff yet? What planet do you live on? Sandy didn't want to answer questions, though; he wanted to continue. When his knee pushed up between her legs, when his hip mashed against her, she shivered, but it didn't seem to be leading anywhere particularly. He didn't know what he was doing. She could kiss his little pig-in- a-blanket. But she realized pretty soon the futility of the

Labor

Christopher Albanese, Brett

Page 82

".TREE.," I added in the gas station parking lot, watching as, inside the shadowy rear of the van, a short figure stood, hunched under the roof. The figure clambered over the seat back, and I could see that he was a young boy, maybe eight or nine years old. He was pantsless, and his small, hard penis was bobbing out from his hairless crotch. The five year old girl tied to the seat screamed beneath the gag, but the husky Midwestern woman simply smacked her unconscious. A tearing sound could be heard, and the two halves of a pair of little girl's panties fluttered out of the van, arched through the air, and landed on the parking lot pavement atop a slick oil that was glowing rainbow in the sun. On the tattered cotton I could read the embroidered name, Mindy.

Serpent in the Stars

Hemant Balvantrao Kulkarni

Page 120

As a young boy, Raghu was fascinated by the donkey, and he used to get a free ride to the river and back.

One day, as they reached the river, the washerwoman picked him up and before putting him down gave a loud smack on his cheeks and lips. He didn't like the woman taking liberties with his body, and he tried to wipe of her impressions upon his face, Then she said, "I am going to remove your clothes, wash them and give you a good bath in the river." And without waiting for his response, she quickly disrobed him and stood staring at him, saying: You are my darling Krishna, and I am your devoted Radha." She started playing with his hairless genitals and laid him down on the heap of unwashed clothes and pressed his erect penis between her legs. She jumped on him and then held him tightly underneath her body. After a few minutes, Raghu wriggled out of her clothes and panting heavily struck her across the face. She, however, smiled at him and said, "Didn't you like it?" That was the first time he had experienced seminal ejection and felt so guilty that whenever (.)

Angel Lust: An Erotic Novel of Time Travel

Perry Brass

Page 12-14

We held our breath on tiptoe. He motioned for me to follow him down the narrow hall into a side room. Its door had been closed, but left slightly ajar. He opened it carefully. "paul," he whispered to me. The little boy was sleeping in a kid's cot, with just a blue sheet and a thin blanket over him. On a plastic side table a small lamp glowed, its shade a brightly painted circus parade. The dark shadows of a lion, two elephants, and a trio of cha-cha bears on hind legs loomed across the room, cast by this single dreamy eye of light.

I felt suddenly guilty; a bit of an intruder. The boy's room was so still and peaceful, after blowing full-scale out form Casa Julio. I looked around at his toys and kid things, while the circus eye guarded him watchfully. Little outfits, games, stuffed bears, and fluffy beanie creatures. "He likes animals," Niko explained, a smile flushing his face. It was a different smile: Possessive, settled, but still in awe. The boy was beautiful, soft, carved out of innocence and darkly handsome, a lick of mustache already blooming above his tiny plum lips. He was fast asleep.

"Look," Niko whispered. "lemme show you how Greek papas sometimes kiss their little boys." Caught up in the quiet, I looked on as Niko carefully picked up the little boy and held him to him. "See," he said. Then slowly he retracted Paul's tiny white undershorts and briefly kissed the swelling tip of the boy's penis. It was small and pale, like a frosted glass Christmas tree ornament, ending in a rosy furled tip. I began to tremble: this was something so completely medieval and real; I just did not expect it right there. He kissed it again, then handed Paul, still in the distant land of tiny circuses, to me. "You want t` kiss?"

All I could hear was the sleeping child's breath, the clean soft hollowness of it, and then Niko, breathing, next to me. "It's okay," Niko said. "Just kiss. Don't suck, just kiss it. It's like a ritual; it's secret."

I put my lips to the little dick. I could feel it getting harder, as Paul's sleeping hand went down to it. I knew children did that; they're always masturbating, till they hear that it's wrong. Then their hands get slapped, and they're sent off to confession. "He can do that," Niko whispered. "I let him play with himself all he wants. Jesus, I do."

I smiled dumbly, then briefly licked the shining tip of the child's penis, allowing its pink sweet saltiness to scurry up my tongue. It tickled like little air bubbles. A rush of swishing nerve endings (kind of like soft little brooms weeping down my gut) chased through me. Then with Niko nodding knowingly at me, I took the whole, sleepy thing lusciously into my mouth, to feel it getting very hard there.

All my guilt evaporated; I knew it. Surely, this could only be like the furry, wise bumblebee sucking . . . gentle nectars out from the waiting throats of flowers. A pale morning glory or miniature white calla lily, all sugar-soft, came to mind. "Man," Niko said. "You gonna suck my little boy's dick?" He smiled benignly. "Why not? It's the same, right? Sex, kids; it begins there."

I took the boy's thing from my mouth, then kissed Niko on the cheek. He laughed quietly, and I began to suck the child again, until I, too, became of the same young flesh as this flower's heart; and soon the boy's sweet little member and my own wet mouth became quietly one, as Niko watched, a hard-on obviously growing in his jeans. All of this I knew was in Pauls's deep sleep; or perhaps I could say . . . in mine.

His flesh had become my own; and we were now both curled around one thing. One marker on the vast flowing field of Time, although I could not say this marker's given name.

Did I know it? Did it have one - what is it, this marker's name? Does it (or he, is the marker a "he") have a name?

I could not say, but only knew that we were now curled around the same flowering thing, gathered in a pulling of Time. An immense pulling as mysterious and revealing as the furled tip of the boy's silken foreskin, opening in the darkness of my mouth . . . within that glowing, circus-watched room.

I gave the boy back to Niko, who drew his briefs back up and gently put him back into his bed. "He's gonna have nice dreams," Niko Stamos whispered, smiling. "No nightmares. No monsters. None of that Star Wars shit. I can tell. I can see it." He closed his eyes, and I wondered what he was thinking: always the unknowable question, even for beings like us. Then he kissed the little boy and put him back into his bed, and we tiptoed out.

His own room was further down at the end of the hall. It had always been his, he said, after he closed the door and we quickly dropped both our jacket on the bare floor. After his wife Angela had left him with the kid and he moved back with his parents, he took back his room. His mother was happy. She though Angela was only a whore, a putana, as they say all over the Mediterranean; real skata, shit.

There was no light in the room, except for a streetlight outside behind the drawn window shade. Niko lay down on the narrow bed, not much bigger than Paul's and pulled me to him. His fat tongue went into my ear and he said, "My father used to kiss me like I kissed Paul. I ain't supposed to know. Some think the boys just forget. But it's tradition. They been doing it in Greece since Socrates, and the old dudes. It's why us Hellenes are so smart - we're helle of a smart guys, you know? 'Cause the daddies kiss the little dicks of their boys."

Page 20

We were swimming there; sometimes floating; sometimes only pulling each other by the legs, shoulders, or sexual parts. But mostly skimming along the brink of orgasm, his, mine; then, in that vast darkness of the coast . . . the door to his room cracked open.

The light was blinding. There was Paul.

The little boy was walking without a thing on, naked towards us. I saw him in the dark, with his tiny, hairless cock hard, playing with himself, even while I was sucking Niko's fat dick. He crawled into the bed with us. Niko reached up for him, hugging him, and then took the little boy's penis in his mouth. He began sucking him, and I knew that something even wilder and stranger than I knew myself to be, had happened.

Of Preachers and Pagans

David Davis

Page 100

There appeared to be no one inside, and the door opened silently and easily, so he went directly to the crafts room in which he believed he had left his cap. He was no less surprised when he opened the door than were the two occupants of the room. The teenage youth counselor was kneeling before a bench, and behind him the Reverend Luther Swinburne was standing, apparently either opening or closing his belt buckle. The kneeling boy's pants and undershorts were bunched around his knees, his pale buttocks peeking from beneath his shirt. For a very long five seconds, the three people were living statues. Jack looked at the man and the boy. Surprised, chocked into immobility, they returned his gaze without speaking.

Page 109

"Don't fight me, boy." Brother Swinburne moved his left hand to cover Lee's mouth with his palm and to pinch the boy's nostrils between his thumb and fingers, and still grasping the back of the boy's head with his other hand, "I now baptize you into the brotherhood of the masters of men," said the preacher, and submerged the boy again under the dark waters but immediately brought him back up. At each move, Jack shot another frame of the film. As they waded ashore, Brother Swinburne had his arm around Lee's back, his hand extended through the armpit. Lee sagged weakly as he walked, and seemed in need of support. Out of the water they came, across the narrow strip of sand, onto the moss-covered bank. There the preacher turned Lee to face him, and placing his hands on each side of the boy's face, kissed him full on the lips. Lee, eyes wide open, did not respond. Arms hanging limply at his sides, he did not resist. Reverend Swinburne lowered the naked boy to the ground to a sitting position and sat beside him. He thrust his arm from the front through Lee's armpit, then across his back, and pushed the wrist of the boy's other arm into that hand so that he had imprisoned both the boy's arms, leaving one of his own hands free. With his free hand, he began to rub, pinch, and tweak the boy's nipples. After a moment, he pressed Lee into a reclining position. Gripping both wrists in one hairy simian hand, he began to fondle Lee's genitals with th4e other. Suckling the boy's small nipples, Brother Swinburne began to gently tug at the boy's penis. As that member began helplessly to swell, he crooned, "Feels good, don't it, boy?" He released his hold on Lee's wrists and guided the boy's hand to his own tumescence. Jack, now sickened by this revolting display of abusive sexual aggression, thought of intervening, of aborting this utterly depraved rape, bur resolved instead to protect the photographic evidence by staying the course, and did remain to covertly photograph the entire episode, firing off one fame as the reverend forced Lee to kneel at his feet, and the last frame of the film roll as the preacher grasped the boy's hair in one huge hand and guided his own swollen phallus with the other. Jack turned away, revolted by the scene of carnal coercion, and slipped away as silently as he had arrived.

Adam's Theories

Dana Hodgdon

Page 47-8

"Should be done I just a few minutes." Jim said as he walked over to where we were standing. "Ah, ma'am, Adam here is pretty serious about football, huh?"

"Yes, he's captain of his team, and he calls all the plays." Mom boasted. Mom was right. I was captain of my 3rd grade team, and I was "tailback" of our team, which meant I got to call our plays-all 4 of 'em. We had a play called A-41, which meant I took the hike and ran around the right end. We also had A-48 which was when I went around left end. Then there was A-35 which was when Tommy Harrison, our fullback, who had been held back a grade and was really in Carl Barret's class, took the hike and went up the middle. And finally, our secret weapon, A-28 reverse. In A-28 reverse, I started right and then handed off to Chuck Deary who came around left end.

"He's getting to be a pretty big guy, it might be time to consider an athletic supporter," Jim observed. I wasn't sure what an athletic supporter" was. Neither was Mom. We both stared blackly at Jim. "You know, protection for the boy." Jim led us over to a collection of Bike athletic supporters.

"well, I don't know," Mom said, Mom was totally naïve about this stuff.

"Well, it won't hurt to try one on and see if Adam needs one." Jim said, smiling. "I'll just take him downstairs and see if its time."

Jim took a couple of the smallest Bike athletic supporters off the shelf and signaled that I follow him. He glanced around the store. I followed Jim down some dark stairs and into what appeared to be a storage area. Jim knelt down In front of me. "Take your pants down, Adam, and we'll see if this fits." He was breathing kind of hard. I through maybe it was because of the walk down the stairs.

I cautiously lowered my pants, but not my Jockey undershorts. That would be too embarrassing.

"And the undershorts too." Jim said, panting. "We've got to see if you need some protection. In a swift motion, he pulled my undershorts down.

I looked at Jim and knew that something was wrong. He was breathing heavily, and staring at my exposed genitals. I wasn't sure what to do. Jim was a really cool guy and he obviously liked kids.

"Make it hard, make it hard." Jim said heavily, as he began fondling my penis and balls. He was breathing loudly now. "Can you make it hard?" He kissed my penis.

"No, I., don't know what you mean." I said. I was in misery. I knew that Jim was a good guy, but I also knew that what was happening was not cool. "I think, I think I want to get my helmet and face mask."

Jim seemed to get more composed. He backed away from me, and gathered up the two athletic supporters which were still in their boxes. "Well, I guess you don't need one of these yet." He said cheerily. "Maybe next year."

"I quickly pulled up my undershorts and my pants and headed for the stairs. As I scrambled up the stairs, I was aware that he was right behind me, and it made me uncomfortable.

Princess Daisy

Judith Krantz

Page 43-51

"Do tell me, my dear child, did you manage finally to do well in your examinations? And are you still a member of that fascinating inner circle you spoke of last summer - the little jumped-up American millionaires and the little British lords with bad teeth and the naughty baby cattle barons from the Argentine, and all the other grandees of your school?"

Stash tightened his lips in rage. One day last summer, when he was only thirteen, he had made the mistake of describing his best friends to her. She seemed to be taking a genuine interest in his school life. Most of his mother's intimates, occupied with the myriad intrigues of their hermetically sealed world based on illness and gossip, had learned not to pay attention to the difficult, unfriendly boy, but the Marquise had drawn him out until he allowed her a rare glimpse into his school life.

"And you, Madame la Marquise," he shot at her, ignoring her questions, "are you still the notorious femme fatale of this vast and cosmopolitan center? Or have you been replaced by someone whom I have not yet met?"

"Alexander," flashed his mother. "That is quite enough! Claire, you must forgive him - he's just fourteen you know, that impossible age when you think it's amusing to be impudent. Alexander, apologize at once!

"No, Titiana, darling, don't be silly . . . I was teasing him and the little one got angry." Claire de Champery was in the best of humors. She felt the congestion of blood rushing between her primly pressed together thighs, proof positive that she had been right to provoke the boy. From the moment she had seen him coming across the room, she had noticed that the childish beauty she had savored in secret for years had become that of a youth. She saw the faint beginnings of a mustache on his upper lip, she measured with her eyes the new physical development which had given a fourteen-year-old the muscle structure of a youth. No longer a boy, yet not a man - a most delectable, a most tantalizing, a most fleeting age. A moment in a man's life, she reminded herself, that did not last long. A youth-a pure and perfect youth-that most tasty morsel of all. He knew nothing yet, she was sure of that. Off at a boy's school all year long, what could he possibly have learned besides the little dirty games they might play with each other?

But his fiery reaction to her mockery told her that he was ready to be taught.

"Claire," Titiana insisted, "he simply must apologize. I can't permit him to behave in such a manner."

"Let him do a penance instead, Titiana darling. An apology is too easily given. Ah, I have it - he shall take me for a troika ride - that is, if he is old enough to control the horses?"

"I have been driving the troika for over four years," Stash said with scorn.

"Tant mieux. Then I have nothing to fear. Be at my Chalet at three tomorrow afternoon and I'll be ready to leave. Now, baby, go and eat your pastries . . . you look as if you're longing for them."

As the Marquise dismissed the sullen youth she turned back to Titiana and resumed the conversation with the facile charm which had drawn the Princess to her in the first place.

The day after Stash's scene with the Marquise de Champery, he arrived on time to take the Frenchwoman for a troika ride, since his mother had continued to insist on it. The maid who let him into the chalet told him that her mistress was not quite ready to leave. She took his coat and led the way to a little sitting room just off the Marquise's bedroom. A fire had been lit and the room was very warm. The maid pointed out a tray of bottles of different liquors and an assortment of boxes of various kinds of cigarettes, and left him. Stash tightened his lips in annoyance. He was not old enough to drink or some and he knew that the Marquise was aware of it. This was just more of her baiting, another reminder that he was still a child. He was still standing resentfully in the center of the luxurious nest of a room when the Marquise entered. She was dressed hi a loose flowing tea gown of black chiffon trimmed with lace.

"Oh, so you're not coming driving then," Stash exclaimed in relief, at the sight of her unsuitable clothes.

"No, I have merely changed your penance, my boy."

"Penance! You mean charade! This whole thing is absurd. I'm not a child to be treated like this. I'm leaving . . . enough of this!"

"I think not," the Marquise said softly. "You spoke to me most rudely and your darling maman is still very angry with you." The woman knew well that the only influence to which Stash made himself subject was that of his mother. "Come sit down on this couch with me and I shall tell you what it is." The boy suppressed a sigh of anger and silently did as he was told.

"I have been thinking," she mused. "We've known each other a long time . . . it that not so? You were only seven when I first saw you . . . a little boy. And now you are almost a man. Do you have any idea how old I am?" Stash was startled and deeply gratified at being told he was almost a man. His anger forgotten, he answered shyly. "You're not as old as my mother . . . certainly, but I can't guess women's ages."

"I am twenty-nine," she said, lying by only three years. "Does that seem very old to you? Of course it must. No ... don't protest, don't be polite, it doesn't become you. When I was your age, twenty-nine was unimaginably old. So I have decided, as your penance, to teach you a lesson . . . a lesson in relativity."

The marquise's small and swollen mouth was fresh as a fruit and she licked her lips thoughtfully. She moved closer to where Stash sat stiffly on the rose satin upholstery she knew was in bad taste but nevertheless permitted herself in private apartments. One of her plump white arms reached out, the black lace falling away from it, and she placed her hand on his head. "I miss your curls," she said softly, rumpling his thick hair. He sat straight and motionless, his nostrils drinking in the unfamiliar scent of a woman in a low-cut gown. By the light of the fire, out of the corner of his eye, he could see the blue shadow where her breasts began. Her hand left his hair and began to caress his neck with the most neutral of touches, as if she were absent-mindedly stroking a pet. Stash felt, with horrified embarrassment, that his penis had become rigid inside his trousers. He did not notice Claire's glance at his crotch, her eyebrows lifting only slightly as her practiced eye told her what had happened. Idly, she played with his earlobe, not moving any closer to him.

"So, what is relativity? Can you tell me? No ... I thought not. The lesson in relativity begins with the realization that my hand and your neck have no age at all. They are only flesh meeting flesh. But to appreciate the true meaning of relativity, we must go further . . . much further." She allowed her wandering fingers to touch the soft hollow at the base of his throat, exposed in his open-necked shirt, and then she slipped her entire hand into his shirt and found one of his nipples and started to circle it with one finger. Stash groaned aloud and she drank in the sound with gourmandize-that was his first groan as a man, she thought, feeling his nipple harden, Now he would never forget her. "Ah, little man, you are beginning to understand relativity," she whispered to the boy who still looked ahead, his mind spinning. What was she doing . . . his mother's friend . . . impossible . . . another mockery. In confusion he thought - but he couldn't be certain - that her hand, which she had withdraw from his shirt, had, for an instant, fallen lower, to his crotch, and brushed like a feather over the stiff lump of his penis. But then this same hand, quickly raised, now gently unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his strong youth's chest down the center of which fine blond hair made a straight, faint shadow. She moved closer to him, threw back his shirt, and ran the fingers of both her hands down his half-naked, already well-muscled arms and murmured to herself, "How very grown-up you are, after all, my Stash." The boy was stunned into immobility even when she caressed him under his arms, fingering the scant, silky tufts of hair that had so recently sprouted there. The painful tumescence of his penis seemed shameful to him, a confession of weakness before this dominant woman. He knew her, the sly one, she wanted to make him try to touch her and then she would remind him of what a child he was. He gripped the pillows he was sitting on in order not to move, not to give her that satisfaction.

Then he felt her unbuckle his belt and unbutton his fly. For a moment she seemed to hesitate, her head lowered in the firelight, riveted at the sight of the outline that reared under his restraining undershorts. The size of it seemed to make her decide. She slid to the thick carpet and looked up at him as he sat on the edge of the couch, his teeth biting into his lower lip in a grimace which hardened his face into a look it would not naturally war for ten more years.

"Now . . . now we come to the penance, Stach. You must stand up." She remained still, waiting patiently, steadily watching him, not repeating her command. Slowly he stood up, his trouser falling to his feet. Controlling her breathing with difficulty the woman looked at the slender youth who stood before her, not caring to meet her eyes. Through the opening of his undershorts the thick, jutting shaft of his penis was clearly visible.

"Pull down your shorts," she whispered. He obeyed. His body was marvelously made, pale except where the winter sun had touched his big hands and strong neck. All his joints and tendons were tender-skinned, yet firm and defined. A little blond hair grew on the legs and a deeper shadow of coarser hair curled at the base of his testicles.

"Step out of your pants and lie down on the sofa," she ordered. "Don't touch me, Stash, or I will stop what I'm going to do to you. I am the teacher here and you are doing your penance, so be obedient. If you move, even one little inch, I'll stop the lesson. I swear it" The threat in her voice was real. She pulled at her gown so that it dropped from her shoulders. Her breasts sprang out from the confining lace. She cupped each of them in a hand, leaning over him so that he could see how sumptuously heavy they were, tipped with the light brown nipples of a true redhead. He lay still on the rose satin, not daring to arch his back and thrust his agonizingly hard penis upward. She brushed her nipples tantalizingly over his chapped lips. "Don't move!" she warned again, adoring the sensation of the roughness of his young open mouth on her flesh. When he moaned in fearful desire and tried to touch them with his tongue, she moved away at once. "Ah! Nol I've only begun . . ." Very delicately, with the lightest possible touch, she moved her full, succulent mouth down his body which had just emerged from boyhood, stopping to anoint each of his nipples with her pointed tongue. Finally she hovered over his penis for a long moment while he held his breath. Her sleek head hung, almost in meditation, as she observed how it strained upward, jerking toward her mouth. But without even touching ft, she passed on and went lower, tonguing the insides of his strong thighs. As she knelt on the sofa she had gradually slipped out of her gown so that her full body, with its rich bounty of lush perfumed flesh, was entirely exposed, but from his position on the sofa, he could not see her nakedness clearly without raising his head. She had not yet touched him with anything but her nipples and her mouth, nor had he touched her at all. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists in frantic frustration and heard her low, satisfied laugh, the laugh of the true gourmet.

"Oh, yes, indeed, yes, you are making progress. You are beginning to appreciate relativity. You are almost prepared for the end of the lesson."

"The Marquise's tongue traveled leisurely from Slash's thighs back to his testicles. She blew on his pubic hair very lightly, and again, he couldn't prevent a groan from escaping his dry lips. Like a line of fire, the tip of her experienced tongue ran up the base of his straining penis and then rested for one whirling moment on its tip.

"No," she said, pensively, "No, you cannot control yourself well enough." With a little movement she positioned herself until she was straddling Stash's body, one knee on either side of his tensed thighs. Slowly, with the leisurely care of a woman of thirty-two, she parted her thick, red pubic hair and opened the lips of her vagina with the fingers of one hand and, with the other, she gently pulled Slash's penis back from his stomach until it was pointed straight up into the air. He was so hard that she had to hold it back firmly while, taking an infinite amount of time, she gradually lowered herself onto the swollen tip. She gathered her ripe body into a soft pillar of flesh and slid down on him. When he was completely enclosed within her, she leaned forward and whispered into his contorted lips, "Now, now . . ."

Stash, released from his bondage, grasped the kneeling woman around her waist with both his arms and, without removing his penis from her tight sheath, lifted her up and turned her so that she was under him. With one gigantic thrust he poured himself out into her while he bit her lips mercilessly and crushed her breasts in both hands. As soon as he could breathe again, he said, "Don't you ever dare to ride me again! I'll do the riding from now on!

"Oh, ho," she muttered in a harsh whisper, "so now it's you who gives the orders? But, my friend, only one of us is satisfied . . . so relatively speaking, the lesson has not been learned."

"No?"

She realized that his penis had never left her vagina. It was growing again, growing bigger than before. He ground it into her waiting body with unsteady strokes, until she reached a violent orgasm. And still he rode her, swollen with blood, pausing only once to wipe his sperm from her wet pubic hair with her black lace gown. This second time he had already learned much he needed to know and he took his time in pleasing himself, ignoring her protests that he was hurting her, that he must stop a minute, that he was too big. His second orgasm was much more intense than the first, coming, it seemed, not just from his penis and his testicles, but from his whole spinal column.

The fourteen-year-old boy lay, momentarily exhausted, beside the voluptuous, satiated form of the woman. Neither spoke as the fire crackled in the fireplace. It was dark outside.

"Claire," Stash said. "I'm going to take a bath in your tub. Ring the maid for hot chocolate and bring it to me there. And then . . ."

"Then. . . ?" she interrupted, astonished at the voice of command which came from the youth to whom she had just given his first lesson in love.

"And then we'll have another lesson in relativity. In the bedroom. This couch of yours is too slippery for me." His voice was rough with new authority.

"But . . . you're crazy!

He took her hand and put it on his penis. The hot sticky organ was already beginning to rise and fill. It moved under her touch like an animal.

"Don't you want me to bathe?" he asked. "Shall we just go to the bedroom now?

"No, Stash-no-go take your bath. I'll ring for the chocolate."

She hastily covered herself with the bedraggled gown.

"Don't forget the pastries."

Every day of that Christmas vacation, Stash cut short his skiing and spent all afternoon in the rose-red sitting room or the lavender bedroom of the Marquise de Champery, leaving only when it was time to go home for dinner. She wrote a note to Titiana to say that a head cold prevented her from joining the usual gathering at the chalet and gladly gave up her dinner engagements to preserve the fiction.

Stash became familiar with the long slow strokes, the quick jabs, the excruciatingly disciplined pauses which only made them both more eager, the quiver, the holding back, the pulses beating together - all the ebb and flow of making love. The Frenchwoman taught him how to please her, and all the other women he would possess, with a sensuality that explored every detail. She taught him to be shameless, as she was, so that all the prohibitions of conventional sexuality never had a chance to make an impression on him.

The Ninja: A Novel

Eric Van Lustbader

Page 245-8

Willow bowed and led the man down a dimly lighted hallway. The walls, save for the decorative molding at floor and ceiling, were papered in a blue-green Shantung silk. The carpet was a deep beige, as were the molding and the closed doors they passed.

They came to the last door on the left and Willow halted. Her hand reached for the knob.

"Wait a minute." The man's fingers encircled her slender wrist. He pulled her around to face him. "Are you going to-" He was speaking in Cantonese, saw the blank look on her face, switched to Mandarin. It was too much to expect that they'd know Japanese. "Has the old woman fixed you up with me? I told her I didn't want anyone tall." Willow stared at him mutely. "Listen, I don't want you. Understand? There has been some mistake."

Willow dropped her gaze to his fingers holding her. "Tell the old lady there's been a mistake. For the money I'm-" He stopped, puzzled. She had made no move to break away from him. He had wanted her to struggle, even to whimper. He increased the pressure of his fingers but there was no response. He let go her wrist.

Willow turned and silently opened the door. She did not step over the sill. The Japanese went inside and turned around to look at her but the door was already closing behind him.

The room was large. Green carpet covered the floor. The walls were gold; the ceiling, an eggshell white. The room contained a large double bed, a wide sofa and a trio of matching chairs, all done in gold cotton. An open door in the right wall led to a rather large and, upon closer inspection, ornate bath. A highly polished oak armoire stood along the left wall next to a large window.

He crossed to this, looked out on Pell Street. There was a conventional black iron fire escape running up the side of the building; there was no window in the bath. Normal security precautions. He turned around.

He saw a young boy and, behind him, a young woman.

"What is your name?" he said to the boy. He did not ask for the woman's name.

"Sparrow."

"Do you have it?"

The boy nodded, took a step toward the Japanese.

"Stop," he commanded. "Give it to the girl."

The boy turned and handed her something.

"Bring it to me."

He stared at her, his eyes boring into hers. His hand flipped out in a blur, knocking the cup from her outstretched hand. She stifled a cry at the blow. Her fingers stung terribly.

"Do nothing," he said coldly, "unless I command it. Then be quite certain you do precisely as you are told. Is that clear?" The girl nodded dumbly. These remarks seemed directed solely at her.

"Let me see what you have."

She opened her hand. In it he saw two brown tablets and, beside them, a chunk of a black substance. He picked this up first, sniffed it. He nodded. He placed it back in her hand, picked up the tablets. These he tasted with the tip of his tongue. Satisfied, he told her to grind them up. This combination of opium and synthetic DMT was not new to him. He had acquired a taste for it from a fellow student years ago. The pressure at the ryu had been enormous. Sake, of course, was often use as a source of relaxation. But it was not for him; it was not enough. He watched glassy-eyed as the girl, on her knees, ground the mixture in a stone mortar she had produced from within the armoire. When she had finished and had filled a pipe for him, he told her to run the water for his bath.

"I can do that," Sparrow said.

"Stay where you are," the Japanese barked. His gaze shifted to the girl. "Do as you are told."

She bowed her head, half ran across the room. By the time he had the pipe lit, he heard the muted sound of running water.

The Japanese took three long drags at the pipe before he took it out of his mouth. "Come here, Sparrow. Now inhale. No, deeply. That's right."

He returned the pipe to his mouth, finished smoking. He could hear nothing but the distant water, tumbling. It sounded like a falls. Every time he breathed in now, the air felt chill; on the exhalations, it seemed to bum the lining of his nostrils. He felt his heart pumping, the blood squirting through his veins and arteries. He felt hot.

Gravity pulled upon him as if he were underwater. He felt its drag on his arms and legs, on his head and on his penis. His balls seemed to have grown within their sac.

"Come," he commanded the boy and together they went into the bath. The tub was three-quarters full. The girl was on her knees testing the temperature.

"Undress the boy," he told her. Every time he spoke, he could feel the rumbling vibrations in his chest. The words, gaining substance, seemed to roll around within the cavity, like ripples set in motion, eddying outward. Some words were as small as insects, as bright and shining. Others were as large and ungainly as giraffes.

The Japanese watched avidly as the girl went to where Sparrow stood on the doorsill. "Do it on your knees," he told her. He was gratified to see how well she took instructions. He must remember to compliment the old woman. The boy stood naked, his thin body just beginning to form the musculature of adolescence. The Japanese stared, his pupils dilated. In and out. His breathing like the bellows in a busy forge. The girl sat with her legs folded beneath her. Her head was bowed. Her long black hair hung, shining, down her back.

He bade her undress him next, his shirt first so that she could perform the rest on her knees in front of him. He did not watch her; he watched the boy.

He was hard by the time she had finished and the boy's penis was no longer soft. Without looking at her, he grabbed the girl by the back of her head, pushed her face against his scrotal sac. Her mouth opened. The boy was hard and quivering.

He pushed the girl away from him, stepped into the hot tub. "Now," he said to her, "Wash me."

When this had been completed, he stepped out and instructed her to scrub the bathtub. Only when it was washed and rinsed did he step back in. She ran the water for him again. Lying back, soaking contentedly, he stared up at the gleaming white ceiling just as if he were alone. He thought about the call and what it meant. He smiled. He smiled. He had meant to kill Tomkin within three days anyway. He had not been about to reveal that to his employers. The less they knew the better. Once you gave anyone information of any kind, you risked giving them an advantage. That was something the Japanese had never done. He was successful because it was he who held the advantage always. This he had been taught well.

(...)

He went over every phase of the buy again, feeling a tingling in his groin beginning. The only matter that now concerned him- because it was out of his control at the moment- was whether he had been too obvious. Perhaps he had miscalculated in killing Ito. Then he thought: No, it's what I had planned to do from the start. It's what he needs.

The tip of his erect penis breached the water. He stared at it, fascinated.

"Time." He said and the girl opened the grain. He stood up. The hot water rolled down his flesh. His torso and limbs were hairless. He stepped out of the tub, brushed aside the thick towel the girl had opened for him. "No," he said. "Lick the water off me." He watched the boy, who had not moved all this time, as the girl bent to her task.

Yes, he though. There is plenty of time. Enough for me to return here tomorrow night. Release was instrumental to his functioning properly. Between his spread legs , the girl continued to lick at him.

In the bedroom, he smoked another pipeful, repeating his offer to Sparrow. The girl was the only one who was still dressed.

She came and stood before him when he commanded, her eyes at her feet. With one blurred gesture he ripped the silk robe from her.

She had small firm breasts, the nipples long and hard. Narrow waist and hips, thick pubic triangle. Her skin was raised in goosebumps. Still she would not look at him; he liked that.

He reached his left hand up. It was so big that his fingers were able to completely encircle her slender neck. Her skin was so soft there.

With his other hand he touched her briefly where her flesh was raised, interested in the oddity.

Holding her thus, he drew his right hand away, slapped her breasts so that they shook. She grimaced but made no sound. The Japanese turned his head slightly so that he could see the boy's reaction; he had not moved. The Japanese swung at the girl's breasts again, this time from the opposite side. She gasped and immediately bit her lower lip. Sweat started out along her hairline; her flesh was damp beneath his fingers.

When he hit her a third time, it was with considerably more force. She gave a short cry and her legs collapsed from under her.

There was a piece of silk tied to each of the bedposts. He took these and, one by one, tied them around her wrists and ankles until she was spreadeagled, unable to move. Her chest was heaving and it glistened with sweat. She moaned, half-unconscious.

The Japanese crossed the room, took the ceramic bottle of sake back to the bed and fed it to her. She coughed twice. Her eyes flew open and she swallowed, convulsively. He kept the lip of the bottle to her lips until all the liquor was gone. Then he got onto the bed, straddling her. He faced her crotch and spread legs; her breasts were beneath him.

"Come here," he said to Sparrow.

The boy moved to the side of the bed, climbed up into the position the Japanese indicated. He crouched between the girl's legs. His eyes went to her crotch. He fell over, dazed. The right side of his face was numb. Moments later, it began to sting. It was very red.

"Don't do that" the Japanese said. "Look only in the direction of this." He pointed to his rampant penis. Now the Japanese settled over the girl's face. He felt the heat of her breath, the soft tickle as her lips opened. Her tongue began to probe his anus.

"Now," he commanded the boy. Sparrow leaned forward, opened his mouth. Soon the Japanese closed his eyes. He began to talk in expletives.

Neither Sparrow nor the girl understood his words; they were in Japanese. They could not, however, mistake his tone. As his excitement mounted, so did the obscenities he uttered. He reached down without knowing it, grabbed painful handfuls of the girl's inner thighs, leaving marks and red welts, and, as he exploded into Sparrow's mouth, he hit her once between her thighs so hard that she fainted with the pain. Seeing the look in the Japanese's eyes, Sparrow backed away off the bed. It was his turn now.

Vengeance

Ian St. James

Page 345

He caught up with them on the threshold to the bathroom. It was a huge, mirrored room, with the door open wide. Inside he glimpsed people crowding the walls, all shouting and roaring with the fervor of a crowd in a racetrack. He sensed rather than saw them, his gaze drawn directly ahead. With his trouser round his ankles, Roddy was pressing a figure against a washbasin. The figure was a boy, naked from the waist down. Roddy's fingers were splayed across the bare buttocks. The boy's leg was cocked up into the wash basin. Rhythmically, Roddy moved into him. The crowd screamed their excitement. The boy rode up and down, gasping and panting. Their breath-smeared reflections showed in the mirror. The boy looked no older than twelve. On his shoulder, Roddy's face was contorted with lust.

Red Chrysanthemum

Laura Joh Rowland

Page 36

Then her attention riveted on the tableau in the corner of the room. Atop a quilt-covered futon hunched a man that she presumed was Lord Mori, propped on his forearms and spread knees. He was nude and thickset; black hairs (.) him like bristles on a bear. His body heaved with fast, loud breathing. His mouth was open, his eyes closed, his complexion sweaty and flushed. A wine jar and cup sat on a nearby table. A small, bare leg and foot protruded from beneath him. Lord Mori pushed himself upright. His penis was erect and gleaming wet. Where he'd lain on the futon was a naked boy, perhaps nine years old. His short black hair stuck up in a cowlick. Reiko couldn't see his face; it was buried in the quilt. Her eyes widened with alarm at the red bruises around his neck. He didn't move; he didn't utter a sound. Lord Mori smiled to himself, an ugly grimace of sensual satisfaction. He picked up a dressing gown and put it on.

"You can come in now," he called. For one disturbing moment Reiko thought he was talking to her. Then a door inside the room opened. Two samurai entered. "Get rid of him," Lord Mori ordered. He had a voice so lacking in expression that it seemed inhuman.

La Donna Detroit: A Detective Sergeant Mulheisen Mystery

Jon A. Jackson

Page 7

Carmie crawled to the other boy. Porky rummaged in a box that seemed to serve as a kind of altar, covered with an old flag and supporting a candelabra and a dented urn of some sort. He pulled out a Boy Scout camping hatchet. He brandished it in the light. Carmie’s eyes were like Ping-Pong balls. “Take of your pants,” Porky said.

He had to say it again, twice, before Carmie understood. But then the boy unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his corduroy knickers and let them down. He stood hunched over in the light. He still wore his white underpants. Porky was crouched before him. He reached out and pulled down the boy’s cotton briefs, somewhat damp and stained with urine from his fright. Carmie trembled in horror.

“What . . . what are you gonna do?” he asked.

“If you don’t shut up and do what I say,” Porky said, "I'm gonna chop yer pecker off." The boy stood still while Porky took hold of his penis and pulled on it, not roughly, but almost tenderly. Porky was breathing heavily. He stroked the child's penis repeatedly, his lips wet and nearly drooling.

"You ever suck a fella?" he asked, suddenly.

Carmie shook his head. “What do you mean?” he stammered.

Porky stood up. He was much taller, and like Carmie, he hunched. He unbuttoned his own trousers and took out his own penis. It was much larger than Carmie’s, and it was strangely stuff, sticking straight out.

“Here,” he said, his voice rasping, “get down on yer knees and suck it.”

Carmie’s eyes were locked on the well-sharpened hatcher, but he shook his head. “No.”

“Okay then,” Porky said. “I’m gonna whack yer dick off.” He grabbed the boy’s penis again and held it, stretching it, brandishing the brutal hatchet threatingly.

“Fatty, help me!” Carmie squealed, inadvertently using a nickname he often applied to his pudgy cousin.

His tormentor seemed to think that the name was applied to him. “I ain’t Fatty,” he snarled. “Get down, before I chop this weenie off!” Carmie sank to his knees, moaning. The older boy hunched over him, breathing excitedly. “Open yer moth,” he demanded, hoarsely.

Børn kan altid sove

Jannick Storm

Side 57

   ,,Vi tager dem én ad gangen," sagde Tom med et listigt udtryk i sit grove ansigt. ,,Så er det lettere. Så binder vi dem hér ved træerne."
   Ralf tænkte på hvis det nu var dem der blev taget til fange af pigerne. Han havde prøvet det én gang, hvor der sad tre piger ovenpå ham. Den ene havde siddet næsten ovenpå hovedet af ham, og han havde kunnet lugte pisset fra hendes underbukser. Desuden var det skideflovt at blive taget til fange af pigerne.
   Da de havde ventet lidt, begyndte de at gå ud for at få fat i pigerne.
   ,,Vi må hellere gå hver sin vej," sagde Tom, ,,og når så en af os har fået fat i en af dem, så kommer de andre ham til hjælp og så fører vi dem hérover. "
   Ralf gik ned mod jernbanen. De andre gik langs nogle buske i den modsatte retning. Det gjaldt om ikke at blive set, før man var henne ved pigerne.

Side 58-61

   Ralf gad ikke være forsigtig mere. Han gik udover lossepladsen og så sig om til alle sider. Der var ingen. Så begyndte han at gå tilbage mod træerne. Da han var kommet et stykke kunne han se nogle skikkelser derhenne. Han satte i løb. Det var Tom og Bjarne og Lilian som stod bundet til et træ.
   ,,Hvor har du været henne?" spurgte Tom ham.
   ,,Hvor er de andre?" spurgte Ralf.
   ,,De stak af," sagde Bjarne. ,,De blev bange."
   ,,Nå," sagde Tom. ,,Vi skal torturere fangen." Han grinede. Bjarne stod og svirpede med en tynd kæp.
   Ralf så på Lilian. Hendes blik var flakkende. Der var noget mørkt i hendes øjne.
   Tom stillede sig hen til Lilian og hev hende i ørene.
   ,,Av!" råbte Lilian.
   Tom vred næsen rundt på hende.
   ,,Av! Av! "
   ,,Hér ,,udvises ingen barmhjertighed," sagde Tom og gjorde tegn til at Bjarne skulle komme nærmere med kæppen.
   ,,Hvad vælger du?" sagde han. ,,Vil du have pisk eller må vi rave?"
   Lilian stod og vred sig i båndene.
   ,,Det er altså ikke retfærdigt! De andre stak bare af."
   ,Det er ikke vores skyld at du har en dårlig hær," sagde ,,Nå, hvad vælger du så?"
   Ralf stod lænet op ad et træ og prøvede at lade som ingen-ting. Bjarne grinede.
   ,, Rave, " sagde Lilian. ,, Men kun én gang! "
   ,,Okay," sagde Tom. Han stak en hånd op under hendes kjole og trak hendes bukser ned til knæene. ,,Hvem vil først?" sagde han.
   Bjarne smed sin kæp og stak hånden op under kjolen. Lilian vred sig i båndene. Hun kneb læberne hårdt sammen.
   ,,Så er det nok," sagde hun anstrengt.
   Bjarne blev grinende ved.
   ,,Hold så op, siger jeg! Øv, hvor er I tarvelige!"
   ,,Hold op, Bjarne," sagde Tom, og Bjarne tog hånden væk.
   Tom lagde sig på knæ foran Lilian og løftede op i kjolen. ,,Der var ikke noget med at kigge," hvæsede Lilian gennem sine sammenpressede læber. ,,Lad være med det!"
   Tom lod kjolen falde ned igen med et grin. Så stak han hånden op. ,,Mmh. Dejlig fisse," sagde han. Han kneb hende.
   ,,Av, for helvede! Dit lede svin!" Lilian spyttede ham rasende i ansigtet. Tom fo'r tilbage og tørrede sit ansigt i trøjeærmet.
   ,,Dumme kælling! Det var jo bare for sjov!"
   Bjarne grinede højlydt.
   ,,Så er det din tur, Ralf," sagde Tom.
   Ralf havde stået og ikke vidst hvad han skulle gøre. Hvis han og Lilian havde været alene ville han gerne have ravet på hende, men han kunne ikke lide at gøre det når der var nogen andre der så på det.
   ,,Jeg gider ikke," sagde han, og prøvede at få det til at lyde henkastet.
   ,,Du tør ikke!"
   ,,Gu tør jeg så! jeg gider bare ikke!"
   ,,Han var heller ikke med til at fange hende," sagde Bjarne.
   Ralf slappede af i lettelse. Hér var undskyldningen. Lilian havde straks grebet den.
   ,,Det var kun dem der fangede mig, selvfølgelig," sagde hun. Hun så ikke på Ralf. Hun stod stadig med underbukserne nede om knæene.
   De stod lidt og så På hinanden, grinende. Tomheden blev synlig. Bjarne havde taget sin kæp op igen og stod og svirpede med den i luften. Uden at de havde lagt mærke til det var sollyset blevet meget skråt. Det var næsten koldt.
   Lilian sagde: ,,Tag så og løs mig."
   Tom grinede.
   ,,Skal vi ikke hugge hendes bukser?" sagde Bjarne så.
   ,,Det må vi hellere," sagde Tom.
   Ralf følte trætheden i sig.
   ,,Hold så op med det pjat, Tom. Løs hende så."
   ,,Det er ikke noget der rager dig," sagde Tom. ,,Du er ikke med mere."
   Ralf kiggede på Lilians ansigt. Hun stod og så ned i jorden. Hun havde stadig det blå fløjlsbånd om håret, selv om det sad løst og skævt nu.
   ,,Så skal jeg løse hende," sagde Ralf og gik hen til træet. ,,Pas dig selv," sagde Tom og gik et skridt frem mod ham,
   men standsede så.
   Ralfs hjerte bankede heftigt da han bandt sejlgarnet op. Han sørgede for ikke at røre mere ved hendes hænder end nødvendigt, og han så hele tiden hen på Tom, hvis han skulle finde på noget. Han havde ikke noget imod at slås med Tom, nu. Tom havde tævet ham før, men han var ikke bange for ham her, foran Lilian.
   Lilian slap løs af båndene og halede straks sine bukser op igen.
   ,,Bangebuks," sagde Tom.
   Lilian begyndte at gå væk fra dem. Ralf stirrede fjendtligt Tom. Lyden af Bjarnes svirpende kæp hang monotont imellem dem. Da Lilian var kommet en halv snes meter væk, begyndte hun at løbe.

Side 64-65

   Da Ralf kom ind gennem porten fik han øje på en klump kridt som lå opad muren. Han holdt cyklen i den ene hånd og samlede kridtet op med den anden. Han så sig om. Der var ingen i gården. Der var ingen der havde set at han tog kridtet.
   Han trak hurtigt cyklen over gården og stillede den i skuret. Så gik han tilbage til porten. Han kastede på vejen et blik op mod Lilians vinduer. Hvis hun var hjemme var der i hvert fald ingen tegn på det. Han gik ind og stillede sig i porten igen. Der lugtede af pis værre end nogensinde. Blodet dunkede i hans krop. Han mærkede at hans pik blev stiv. Han stod lidt og lyttede. Der var ikke andre lyde end gadestøjen. Han så på muren. Der var tegnet en masse på den. Mest krusseduller og streger uden mening, men også en enkelt dårligt udført nøgen dame. Der var også hjerter med pile igennem og forbogstaver. Et sted stod der: Svend er dum. Et andet sted: Pikansjos. Hvis viceværten opdagede at de tegnede i porten, fik de selv lov at vaske det af. Efter at han først havde vredet ørerne om på dem eller stukket dem øretæver og truet med at sige det til deres forældre. Hvad han vist nok aldrig havde gjort.
   Ralf tog hurtigt kridtet op af lommen og skrev: LILIAN HAR EN SNÆVER FISSE. Så smed han kridtet fra sig og løb ud af porten, ud på gaden. Han standsede først da han var kommet om hjørnet. Han blev stående et stykke tid med vildt bankende hjerte og kiggede ind gennem boghandlervinduet uden at se noget. Så gik han langsomt tilbage, rundt om karreen og ind gennem den lille smøge til gården. Han løb op ad køkkentrappen og låste sig ind i lejligheden.
   Han opdagede at han havde kridtpletter på bukserne og på blusen og gik ud i badeværelset og skrubbede dem af med neglebørsten.
   Inde på sit værelse satte han sig på sengen og stirrede på væggen med filmstjernerne. Dorothy Lamour med de store bryster der var ved at sprænge sweateren. Nedringet til midt på brystet. Så vidt Ralf kunne forstå var det ikke så meget damerne, hans mor havde noget imod, som mændene. Han vidste godt hvad hun var bange for. Hun havde for ikke så længe siden forsøgt at fortælle ham om det, men han havde veget udenom, forvirret og flov. Nu skal du høre efter hvad jeg siger.' ,,Ja, det gør jeg også." Sådan noget må du aldrig gøre.' ,,Nej, nej, det ..." Han havde ikke alene været forvirret og flov, han havde også været bange. Fordi hans mor var begyndt at tale om det ganske kort tid efter at han og Bjarne en eftermiddag havde ligget oppe på loftet og gnedet deres pikke mod hinanden. Han kunne ikke engang huske hvorfor han havde villet det. Bjarne havde ikke været interesseret, ikke ret meget i hvert fald. Ralf havde måttet love ham en Tarzanbog for det. Bagefter havde han været meget bange for at man kunne få børn af det. Hvad ville der ske hvis han blev gravid? Der var jo ikke noget hul som barnet kunne kunnne ud af? I nogle rædselsfulde øjeblikke oplevede han hvordan hans mave blev tykkere og tykkere og til sidst sprængtes i en eksplosion af blod og kødtrevler. Men selvfølgelig kunne man ikke få børn af det. Det var bare noget pjat. Bagefter havde Bjarne for øvrigt syntes det var dejligt og havde spurgt om de ikke skulle gøre det igen. Men Ralf havde ikke lyst.
   Ralf forestillede sig Lilians ansigt på Dorothy Lamours skikkelse. Det lyse hår med fløjlsbåndet, de smalle skrå øjne og den brede mund ovenover de store svulmende bryster. Lilian Lamour bundet til et træ på lossepladsen, mens Ralf kom brasende og reddede hende fra gangsterne og hun grædende faldt ind til hans bryst. Han lagde sig ned på sengen og åbnede gylpen og trak sin pik ud og begyndte at gnide på den. Lidt efter tog han sit lommetørklæde frem og viklede det rundt om den.
   Bagefter løb tårerne ned ad kinderne på ham. Han vidste det var 'åndssvagt men han kunne ikke lade være med at græde mens han tørrede pikken i lommetørklædet og foldede det omhyggeligt sammen.
   Han hørte nogen gå nede i gården. Han stillede sig hen bag gardinet og kiggede ud ad vinduet. Det var Dorrit der kom gennem porten. Havde hun set hvad der stod på muren? Dorrit gik hurtigt hen mod køkkentrappen på den anden side. Skulle hun op til Lilian? Han kiggede over mod Lilians vinduer. Der var ikke nogen at se. Men hun kunne jo også være inde i stuen. Lilians mor var jo hjemme, havde hun sagt. Hvad nu, hvis Lilian fortalte sin mor hvad de havde lavet på lossepladsen? Nej, det ville hun nok lade være med. Hun havde da ikke fortalt det andet. Men moren måtte have en mistanke om det. Hvorfor skulle hun ellers sige at hun ikke måtte lege med drengene? Der gik en gysen gennem Ralf ved tanken om at Lilians mor skulle sige til hans mor at hun ikke ville have at han og Lilian legede sammen. Hans mor ville ikke holde op før hun havde fået at vide hvad de havde gjort. Rent bortset fra at han overhovedet ikke måtte lege med nogen af dem, men skulle sidde og læse.

Side 131-145

   ,,Hvad laver l?"
   ,,Det kommer ikke dig ved," Toms stemme lød sur. Han ville have lukket døren igen, men kom vel i tanke om at han ikke ville slippe så let.
   ,,Hvad laver l?" spurgte Ralf igen. Nu var han blevet virkelig nysgerrig.
   ,, Ingenting. "
   Ralf prøvede at se forbi Toms ansigt og ind i det mørke rum. Der var nogen derinde, det var han sikker på. Som en isnen gik det igennem ham: Det er Lilian! Hun og Tom boller! Han flåede døren op, ud af hænderne på Tom der vaklede frem på gangen ved rykket.
   Ralf kunne skimte en skikkelse derinde. Hvorfor sad de i mørke? De plejede at tænde nefalygter derinde. Engang havde de også haft en spritlampe, men de var blevet enige om at åben ild var for farligt, hvis viceværten kom.
   Den anden derinde var Bjarne, kunne Ralf nu se. Der var ikke andre.
   ,,Luk døren, for satan!" hvæsede Bjarne. Han var tydeligt nervøs.
   Tom havde stillet sig hen ved væggen uden at røre sig. Ralf lukkede døren og stod i det mørke rum sammen med de andre. Han kunne høre dem trække vejret anstrengt.
   ,,Hvorfor har I ikke tændt lys?" spurgte han. Det slog pludselig ned i ham at Tom og Bjarne måske sad og spillede pik derinde. Det var den mest sandsynlige forklaring. Den havde han overset fordi han havde troet at Lilian var derinde.
   ,,Vi lader Ralf være med," sagde Tom. Øjensynlig til Bjarne.
   ,,Nej, for helvede!" svarede Bjarne.
   ,,Jo," sagde Tom.
   ,,Hvad er det I skal?" spurgte Ralf. Han fandt det hele mere og mere mystisk.
   ,,Leif er..."
   ,,Idiot!" afbrød Bjarne nervøst.
   ,,Bjarne, hold så kæft! Ellers får du overhovedet ikke lov til at være med!"
   ,,Så siger jeg det til din mor og far
   ,,Gu gør du ej! Hvis du siger så meget som ét eneste kvæk, får du sådan en røvfuld at du ikke kan huske hvad du hedder!"
   Deres stemmer lød hviskende hæse i det lille lumre rum. Træduften sved i Ralfs næsebor. Han følte sig altid utilpas ved denne lugt. Det var som om han blev svimmel af den.
   ,,Leif er ude og hente en pige vi kan bolle med," fortalte Tom hurtigt. ,,I-fan kommer herop med hende."
   Ralf kunne overhovedet ikke tro sine egne ører. Han havde aldrig hørt noget så fantastisk.
   ,,Hvem er det?" var det eneste han kunne sige.
   ,,Det ved vi ikke. Han gik ud for at finde én for lidt siden. Vi har aftalt at han skulle sige at vi holdt tombola heroppe og at man kunne vinde en masse ting. Og når hun så kommer, får vi hende til at tage tøjet af."
   ,,Der er sgu ikke nogen der tror på dén," sagde Ralf irriteret.
   ,,Jo, Leif han er smart. Han sagde han vidste godt hvor man kunne få fat i nogen."
   ,,Hvornår kommer han?" ,,Det ved jeg ikke."
   Der blev tavshed et stykke tid. Det eneste man hørte, var de tre der trak vejret besværet. Ralf havde sat sig ned på en trækasse. Han vidste ikke rigtig hvad han skulle gøre. Men han blev nødt til at blive nu. Ellers ville de tro han var bange. Men selvfølgelig kom Leif ikke med nogen pige. Lilian hoppede i hvert fald ikke på den. Og heller ikke Dorrit eller Jytte. Og han kunne ikke forestille sig at nogen andre kunne være så dumme.
   De stivnede. Der lød skridt ude på gangen.
   Men skridtene standsede. De hørte en lås blive låst op og så noget spektakel fra nogen ting der blev flyttet. Så blev der låst igen. Og så forsvandt skridtene.
   ,,Hvad nu hvis viceværten kommer?"
   ,,Han kommer sgu ikke. Han er nede i fyrkælderen. Der er kommet koks i formiddag."
   ,,Nå." Ralf var lettet. På de dage hvor der kom koks vidste man altid hvor man havde viceværten. Så havde han travlt med at skovle koksene på plads.
   Ralf mærkede at hans hænder var våde af sved. ,,Hvorfor tænder I ikke lys?" sagde han.
   De andre sagde ikke noget. Ralf stak hånden op på en træhylde over sit hoved, hvor de plejede at have nefalygterne stående. Han fik fat i en og skruede på den. I det blege gullige skær stirrede deres ansigter på ham.
   ,,Det er jo bare os," sagde han ud i luften. ,,Og man kan ikke se det udefra." De andre sagde ingenting.
   ,,Det er åndssvagt at sidde hér og vente!" udbrød Bjarne så med høj hvisken. ,,Leif kommer sgu slet ikke! Han sidder et eller andet sted og griner ad os! Den dumme lort! Vi skulle aldrig have sendt ham afsted!"
   ,,Hold så kæft! " hvislede Tom. ,,Ellers skal jeg slå hovedet ned i maven på dig!" Man kunne mærke på ham at han var rystende nervøs.
   Tavshed.
   Ralf flyttede sig uroligt på trækassen, lydløst.
   ,,Jeg gider snart ikke sidde her og vente længere."
   ,,Så gå!" sagde Tom.
   ,,Årh, hold kæft! "
   De hørte døren til loftet gå knirkende op. Der var to stemmer, en lys og en lidt mørkere. De så på hinanden, vendte så blikket bort. Hjertet hamrede voldsomt i Ralfs bryst. Stemmerne og trinene kom nærmere. I den stilhed de havde opbygget, virkede det som en kaskade af larm. Tom sad anspændt med hånden på låsen.
   Trinene standsede udenfor trædøren. Der blev banket. ,,Tom, luk op!"
   Det var Leif.
   Tom lukkede famlende op.
   Udenfor stod Leif med en lille pige i hånden. Ralf kiggede hende med et chok af skuffelse. Hun var ikke mere end seks år. Hun havde lyst krøllet hår og en blå kjole og en rød sweater på.
   Leif halede hende ind og Tom lukkede døren efter dem. ,,For helvede, Leif, din idiot!" hviskede Tom. ,,Hun sladrer! "
   ,,Nej, hun gør ikke," sagde Leif. ,,Det var den eneste jeg kunne få fat i."
   ,,Hvor er hun fra?"
   ,,Henne fra Damgade."
   Pigen stod og kiggede lidt forskræmt på dem. Hun sagde ikke noget.
   ,, Sæt hende hen på kassen!" Det var Bjarne.
   Leif tog hende om livet og slæbte hende hen på kassen. Ralf sad og så til. Han var begyndt at fryse.
   ,,Hvor er min dukke?" sagde pigen så.
   ,,Det har jeg jo fortalt dig," hviskede Leif nervøst. ,,Når du kommer hjem står der en stor dukke udenfor din dør."
   ,,Hvem vil først?" hviskede Leif. Det var tydeligt at han ikke ville.
   ,,Det vil jeg," sagde Tom stift.
   Han gik hen til pigen og sagde:
   ,,Nu skal vi bare lige trække bukserne af." Han famlede op under hendes kjole men kunne ikke få halet hendes bukser ned. ,,Rejs dig op," sagde han. Pigen gled ned på gulvet og stod dér og så undrende på ham mens han halede hendes bukser ned om hælene.
   ,,Der står en stor dukke og venter på dig når du kommer hjem," sagde han imens med dirrende stemme. Han løftede pigen op på kassen igen. Hun sad dér med samlede ben og Ralf kom pludselig til at tænke på at hvis det nu havde været Lilian. Han mærkede hvordan pikken begyndte at svulme.
   Tom stillede sig op foran pigen.
   ,,Sluk lyset!" kommanderede han.
   Bjarne fnisede. Leif slukkede lyset.
   ,,Og I får TÆSK hvis I tænder det lys!" hvæsede Tom. De hørte at han trak vejret hurtigt. Der lød nogle forskræmte snøft fra pigen.
   ,,Så, så," hviskede Tom beroligende. ,,Du skal ikke være bange. Der sker ikke noget. Er du bange for mørke?"
   Pigen svarede ,,ja" med en lille pibende stemme. Hun begyndte at græde rigtigt.
   ,,For helvede! Vi kan ikke have at hun begynder at tude!" hvæsede Bjarne. ,,Tænd lyset!"
   ,,Nej!" skreg Tom.
   Men Leif havde allerede tændt lyset. Som i et glimt så Ralf hvordan Tom stod bøjet over pigen og forsøgte at klemme en slatten lille pik ned mellem hendes lår. Toms ansigt var vendt mod dem i et fordrejet grin. Han fór tilbage og proppede hastigt pikken ind i bukserne igen.
   ,,Dumme svin!" sagde han. ,,Hvem vil så?"
   I pigens øjenvipper glinsede et par tårer. Men hun var holdt op med at græde da de havde tændt lyset. Hun tørrede sig henover kinden med den ene hånd.
   ,,Nu er det Leifs tur," sagde Bjarne.
   ,,Nej, nu er det dig, Bjarne!"
   ,,Jeg gider ikke!"
   Tom så hen på Ralf.
   ,,Hvad med dig?"
   Ralf rystede på hovedet.
   ,,Hold kæft nogen bangebukse!" sagde Leif og gik hen til pigen. Ha n tøvede lidt.
   ,,Sluk så lyset!"
   Men allerede inden de havde slukket det, strømmede tårerne ud af pigens øjne. De stod alle lammede. Hvad skulle de gøre? Tom, der måske følte at han var den nærmeste til det, knælede ned ved siden af hende og tørrede forsigtigt pigens tårer af med et snavset lommetørklæde.
   ,,Der er jo ikke noget at græde for!" sagde han irriteret hende. ,,Vi har jo ikke gjort dig noget, vel?"
   ,,Nu-nej ..." hiksede pigen.
   ,,Så, nu må du hellere komme hjem," sagde Tom.
   følger hende hjem," sagde han til Leif.
   ,,Hvorfor fanden skal det være mig? jeg hentede hende." ,,Du ved hvor hun bor."
   Pigen var holdt op med at græde da de sagde at hun skulle hjem.
   Leif kaldte på hende fra døren som han havde låst op.
   ,,Får jeg så min dukke?" spurgte hun og gik med Leif hen ad gangen.

Side 178-189

   Han havde spist sit æble færdigt og så sig om efter et sted at lægge skroget. Han lod det falde ned i en oval pap-papirkurv med blomster på der stod ved siden af en standerlampe. Lilian var også færdig med sit æble, han vidste ikke hvor hun havde gjort af sit skrog. Hun stod og tørrede fingrene i sin sweater.
   Tavsheden var uudholdelig.
   ,,Du lovede at jeg måtte se de billeder," sagde han så, besværligt. Han mærkede hvordan han straks blev knaldrød i hovedet. Han håbede hun ikke lagde mærke til det.
   ,,De er herinde," sagde Lilian og gik hen mod soveværelset. Hun gik rundt om de to store senge der fyldte næsten hele rummet og satte sig på kanten af den seng der vendte mod vinduet. Ved siden af sengen var der et lille natbord. Lilian lukkede lågen op. Indenfor var der nogle små skuffer. Hun trak den nederste ud og stak hånden ind under en hel masse papir og sedler.
   ,,Kom herhen," sagde hun.
   Ralf kantede sig hen til sengen og satte sig ned på sengekanten ved siden af hende.
   Lilian rakte ham to små fotografier.
   ,,Er de ikke frække?"
   Ralf kunne et øjeblik slet ikke se dem. Alene tanken om at han nu sad med dem i hånden gjorde ham næsten blind. Men så gik det op for ham hvad han så på billederne.
   Det ene viste Lilians mor der stod nøgen ved siden af en lænestol med hånden henover fissen. Hun grinede frækt. Hendes bryster hang tungt ned forpå, de struttede slet ikke som dem på pigerne i bladene. Hun var også noget lasket om maven, tænkte Ralf. Han var skuffet over at han ikke kunne se hendes fisse.
   Det kunne man heller ikke på det andet, som bare viste hende bagfra. Hun havde drejet hovedet og så tilbage over
   skulderen. Der var noget der lignede et ar lige ovenover røven. Det var der ikke noget ved.
   Ralf kiggede igen på det første. Man kunne se nogen af hårene på fissen ved siden af hendes hånd, hvis man A godt efter. De var meget lyse. Sikke nogen hængepatter hun havde, tænkte Ralf.
   Ralf mærkede pludselig at Lilian var rykket tæt hen til ham. Han kunne mærke hendes lår mod sit. Han skævede til hende. Hun havde to mørke pletter på kinderne.
   ,,Årh, de er da ikke særlig frække," sagde Ralf. ,,For øvrigt er hun ikke engang særlig pæn."
   ,,Hvordan så med din mor!" sagde Lilian hidsigt.
   ,,Hun har i hvert fald ikke sådan nogen hængepatter," sagde Ralf foragteligt. Det var løgn. De var bare meget mere slatne.
   ,,Kom med dem!" sagde Lilian iltert.
   Ralf opdagede pludselig at hun var blevet vred. Han skulle have sagt noget helt andet. Nu ødelagde han det hele.
   Han gav hende dem ikke. I stedet sagde han:
   ,,Hvem har fotograferet hende?"
   Lilian tøvede.
   ,,Det har min far. Det er jeg sikker på." Lilian så ikke sikker ud.
   ,Eller måske en rigtig fotograf," sagde Ralf. ,,Sådan én som fotograferer nøgne damer i bladene."
   ,,Tror du?" sagde Lilian. Hun spærrede øjnene op som vejrede hun en sensation.
   ,,Det kan da godt være," sagde Ralf. Han kunne mærke hendes lår mod sit. Det var som om det var glødende varmt.
   ,,Jeg tror ikke min mor ville tage tøjet af for en fremmed mand," sagde Lilian så. ,,Giv mig billederne. Min mor bliver stiktosset hvis hun opdager vi har fundet dem."
   Ralf gav hende billederne, og Lilian stak dem på plads under papiret i skuffen.
   ,,Der er også nogen billeder med en mand og en dame sammen," sagde Ralf, ligesom ud i luften.
   Lilian havde lukket skuffen. Hun svarede ikke. Hendes lår lå stadig presset op mod hans.
   ,,En mand og en dame der boller," sagde Ralf.
   ,,Det véd jeg da godt," sagde Lilian, irriteret.
   ,,Jeg har engang set det," sagde Ralf. Og idet han sagde det, opdagede han at det var løgn.
   ,,Det er løgn!" sagde Lilian. Hun havde rejst sig og stod nu og støttede med hænderne bag sig på natbordet.
   ,,Vel er det ej!" Ralf blev rød i hovedet. ,,Det var en aften ude ved et vaskeri." Det gik op for ham at det var rygterne fra Tom han genfortalte, og måske havde Tom fortalt det til Lilian, men selv om hun kendte det, kunne han hare sige at han havde været derude alene engang.
   ,,Man kunne se ind gennem et vindue i gården og der var en mand der lå og bollede med en pige på gulvet, mens nogen andre stod rundt om og så på."
   Nu havde han fyret den af. Han kunne se på Lilian at hun ikke troede på det.
   ,,Du er fuld af løgn!" Hun så hånligt på ham. ,,Du ved ikke engang hvordan man gør!"
   ,,Årh, hold kæft!" Der var ikke rigtig andet at sige til den beskyldning.
   Lilian havde kantet sig forbi ham og var gået ind i stuen. Ralf havde endnu ikke rejst sig fra sengen. Han ville helst være blevet inde i soveværelset, så kunne de bare have lagt sig ned på sengen. Han rejste sig langsomt og gik ind til hende. Måske havde han alligevel en chance. Den måde hun havde sagt det på. ,,Du ved ikke engang hvordan man gør!" Som en opfordring til at vise hende det. Eller som en bekendtgørelse af at hun skam havde prøvet det. Ralfs hoved summede. Havde hun?
   Lilian sad i en lænestol inde i stuen og spiste et æble til. Hun hang helt nede i den med benene strittende ud på gulvet. Ralf standsede i døråbningen. Hun kiggede op på ham, næsten fjendtligt.
   ,,Hvis vi havde et fotografiapparat," sagde Ralf, og blev irriteret over at hans stemme lød så grødet og utydelig, ,,så kunne jeg også fotografere dig uden tøj på." Han ville have sagt ,,nøgen", men kunne ikke få sig selv til det.
   Lilian fik røde pletter på kinderne.
   ,,Du tror da ikke jeg ville tage tøjet af mens du så på det." Hendes stemme lød foragtelig.
   ,,Nej, selvfølgelig. Du TØR ikke!"
   ,,Gu tør jeg så! Men jeg VIL ikke!"
   ,,Du TØR ikke!"
   Lilian gnaskede larmende på sit æble.
   ,,Nå, men vi har jo altså ikke noget fotografiapparat."
   Så sandt som det var sagt. Det var det. Der var ikke mere at sige til det.
   Ralf gik planløst rundt i stuen, rørte ligegyldigt ved forskellige ting. Så sagde Lilian:
   ,,Hvad skal vi lave?"
   Ralf havde været forberedt på at han måtte gå nu,,men Lilian regnede altså med at han blev. Han turde ikke komme frem med de forslag der svirrede i hans hoved.
   ,,Det ved jeg ikke ... "
   Lilian sad og dinglede med sit Æbleskrog mellem to fingre. ,,,Vi kunne lege voksne," foreslog hun.
   Det gav et gib i Ralf. jamen, lige før.
   ,,Ja," sagde han hurtigt.
   Lilian havde rejst sig fra lænestolen. Hun smed æbleskroget hen i papirkurven ved lampen.
   ,,Så er vi gift," sagde hun, ,,og så kommer du hjem fra arbejde." De røde pletter på kinderne trådte tydeligere frem. Ralf kunne mærke at han blev rød om ørerne.
   Han gik ud i entreen. Han stod der et øjeblik. Så råbte han:
   ,,Hallo! Goddag!"
   Han gik ind i stuen. Lilian stod på samme sted.
   ,,Goddag ... hvad hedder du?" afbrød hun pludselig. ,,Klaus," sagde Ralf.
   ,,Okay, så hedder jeg Lis," sagde Lilian.
   ,,Goddag, Klaus," sagde hun så.
   ,,Goddag, Lis."
   Ralf gik hen til Lilian og tog hende om skuldrene og kyssede hende hurtigt på kinden. Han fik tåger for øjnene.
   ,,Er maden parat?"
   ,,Ja, Klaus," sagde Lilian.
   De satte sig hen ved spisebordet, overfor hinanden og lod som om de spiste.
   ,,Vil du have lidt mere sovs, Klaus?" spurgte Lilian.
   ,,Ja tak, Lis," sagde Ralf.
   "Hvordan er det gået på kontoret idag, Klaus?" spurgte Lilian.
   ,,Årh, som sædvanlige, Lis. Chefen var sur."
   De sad lidt i tavshed og markerede at de spiste.
   ,,Tak for mad, Lis," sagde Ralf. De havde begge rejst sig. Han kyssede hende igen på kinden. Denne gang holdt han fastere om hende.
   De stod lidt og kiggede på hinanden.
   ,,Hvad skal vi så?"
   ,,Nu er det nat," sagde Lilian. ,,Nu skal vi sove."
   Hun gik foran ind i soveværelset. Ralf lukkede døren ind til stuen efter sig.
   Lilian trak rullegardinet ned og tændte lampen på natbordet.
   ,,Nej, hvis der nu er nogen der ser der er trukket ned," sagde Ralf.
   ,,Orv ja," sagde Lilian og rullede gardinet op igen. Ralf slukkede i det samme lyset på natbordet.
   De stod lidt i værelset. Der var for lyst.
   ,,Folk kan se ind," sagde Ralf.
   Lilian rullede gardinet ned igen. Ralf tændte lyset på natbordet. Han stod lidt og pillede ved sengetæppet. Det var for lyst.
   ,,Lad os slukke lyset," sagde Lilian. Hun slukkede lampen. Der var temmelig mørkt nu.
   Lilian halede sengetæppet af.
   ,,Det er min seng og det er din seng," sagde hun. De stod på hver sin side af de to senge.
   ,,Nu skal vi sove," gentog Lilian.
   De begyndte at tage tøjet af. Ralf skævede hen til Lilian og så at hun skævede til ham. De kunne ikke rigtig se hinanden. Det var lettest for Ralf fordi Lilian stod henne ved vinduet, hvor der var en lille smule gråt lys.
   Ralf havde fået sko og trøje og skjorte af. Lilian stod allerede i undertøj. Hun kravlede op i sengen. Ralf blev lettet. Han havde troet de skulle tage alt tøjet af. Han fik hurtigt bukserne af og kom ind under dynen.
   ,,Godnat, Lis," sagde han og bøjede sig over og kyssede Lilian, dennegang på munden. De pressede deres læber tæt sammen så længe de kunne uden at trække vejret.
   Ralf mærkede at hans pik strittede kraftigt i underbukserne.
   Lilian hviske
   ,,Nu leger vi voksne."
   Ralf sank sit spyt og sagde:
   ,,Kom over i min seng."
   ,,Kun hvis du lover ikke at gøre noget."
   ,,Ja, ja."
   Lilian krøb over til ham. Han gjorde plads til hende ved siden af sig. Han havde lagt sig så hun lå med hovedet på hans arm. Han mærkede helt ør i hovedet hendes nøgne lår mod hans. Hun var meget varm. Han rejste sig op på siden og kiggede på hende.
   ,,Hvad glor du på?" spurgte Lilian.
   Ralf skubbede armen under hendes hoved bedre til rette og løftede hendes hoved op og kyssede hende på munden. Mens han kyssede hende mærkede han at hans stive pik var kommet til at ligge op mod hendes lår. Det var tydeligt at hun også kunne mærke det.
   ,,Lad mig se den," sagde hun og ville løfte dynen.
   ,,Nej!" Ralfs hånd hamrede ned på dynen og holdt den fast. ,,Sådan gør man ikke."
   ,,Hvordan gør man så?"
   ,,Det véd du godt. "
   ,,Nåh, med at lægge sig oven på hinanden. Er det dét du mener?"
   ,,ja."
   Lilian lagde sig fladt ud på sengen med armene ned langs siden.
   "Så læg dig oven på mig."
   Ralf kravlede op på hende. Han støttede med hænderne på begge sider af hendes hoved. Han mærkede hvordan hans stive pik pressedes ned mod hendes mave. Det var svært at holde balancen ovenpå hendes samlede ben.
   De lå lidt sådan og kiggede på hinanden.
   ,,Hvorfor gør du ikke noget?" spurgte Lilian.
   ,,Man skal have tøjet rigtigt af," sagde Ralf.
   ,,Det ved jeg sgu da godt," sagde Lilian.
   De trak begge to vejret besværligt.
   ,,Så tag det af," sagde Ralf.
   ,,Flyt dig, så jeg kan få det af."
   Ralf rullede ned af Lilian. Lilian rejste sig halvt og hev undertrøjen af, så lagde hun sig ned og løftede enden og trak underbukserne af.
   ,,Skynd dig nu," sagde Lilian.
   Ralf satte sig på sengekanten med ryggen til Lilian og tog undertøjet af. Pikken svippede op og ned mod hans mave da han halede underbukserne ned. Han krøb hurtigt i skjul af dynen igen og cver til Lilian. Hun lå på samme måde som før. Ralf rullede op på hende igen. Hans pik lå hen over hendes mave. Lilian bevægede ikke en muskel. Han flyttede sig langsomt og forsigtigt nedad til pikken lå lige over hendes fisse. I hans hoved kværnede kun én tanke: NU, NU, NU gør vi det!
   Ralf begyndte at svede. Han kunne ikke få pikken til at blive nede ved Lilians fisse. Den blev ved med at svippe op mod hans mave igen. Han lænede sig over så han hvilede på den ene hånd og stak den anden ned og tog fat i pikken.
   Lilian løftede hovedet og kiggede interesseret på hvad der foregik.
   Ralf trykkede med hånden pikken ned i revnen i Lilians fisse. Pikken gled ind imellem hendes kød. Lilian strammede uvilkårligt musklerne og Ralf havde nær fået overbalance. Han skubbede pikken lidt frem og tilbage. Den forsvandt og dukkede frem igen. Der var et eller andet galt. Den skulle blive derinde. Han trak sig længere ned og pressede pikken op i hendes fisse igen. Dennegang blev den der. Han mærkede hvordan den stødte mod noget hårdt. Det gjorde ondt i pikhovedet. Han trak den tilbage igen, og skubbede den frem en gang til. Han lagde sig helt ned over hende igen, med begge hænder hvilende på sengen på begge sider af hende. Hans øjne var i højde med hendes brystvorter.
   Lilian havde stadig hovedet hævet for at se hvad der foregik, men nu kunne hun ikke se mere. Hun lagde hovedet tilbage på hovedpuden. Ralf kørte pikken frem og tilbage. Den stødte hele tiden mod dette hårde, som Lilian havde lige der. Det var kun lige spidsen der var inde i fissen. Men bevægelsen var dejlig. Det gjorde ham ophidset på en helt anden måde end han var i forvejen. Han blev ved med at bevæge sig frem og tilbage, og han trak vejret prustende. Han kunne mærke at der steg en mærkelig fiskeagtig lugt op dernedefra. Hans næsebor snerpede sig sammen. Det kunne ikke være hans skyld, sådan som han havde vasket sig.
   Han kunne føle hele Lilians nøgne krop mod sin. De gjorde det! De BOLLEDE! Hendes lange glatte lår, de hårde knæ og hendes skvulpende mave. Bolle. Bolle. Bolle med Lilian.
   Lilian lå stadig helt ubevægelig under ham. Hun trak vejret stødvis.
   ,,Du er for tung," sagde hun så.
   ,,Sådan gør man når man boller," stønnede Ralf.
   ,,Det gør også ondt."
   ,,Hvordan ondt?"
   ,,Når du stikker den dérop."
   Ralf holdt inde. Han rejste sig halvt op, og dynen som hidtil havde ligget henover dem gled ned bag hans ryg. Så de begge kunne se hinanden.
   ,,Orv, hvor er den stiv!" sagde Lilian. ,,Må jeg røre ved den?"
   ,,Hvis jeg må røre ved din," sagde Ralf.
   ,,Okay," sagde Lilian og lagde forsigtigt højre hånds,fingerspidser på hans pik. Det sitrede i den. Det var rart, tænkte Ralf overrasket.
   ,,Nu er det min tur!"
   Han lagde hånden ned over hendes fisse, og lod en finger glide ned i revnen. Lilian trak vejret meget hurtigt.
   ,,Pas på," sagde hun.
   I stedet for at passe på, lagde Ralf sig ned og skilte med begge hænder hendes fisse, så han kunne kigge ind. Han kunne ikke se nogen huller nogen steder, men hele fissen var jo ét stort hul.
   ,,Av, det gør ondt!" sagde Lilian. Hun rejste sig op med et sæt.
   Ralf sad og så på hende.
   ,,Lad os lægge os ned og gøre det igen," sagde han så. 99Nej, det gør ondt."
   ,,Det er kun i begyndelsen," sagde Ralf, uden at vide hvor han fik dét fra.
   ,,Er du sikker?"
   ,,ja."
   Lilian lagde sig ned i sengen igen. Dennegang var hun mere blød at røre ved, tænkte Ralf. Han proppede med fingrene pikken ned i fissen og trykkede sig helt ned mod Lilians krop. Så begyndte han at bevæge den ind og ud, ind og ud. Han havde lagt kinden ned mod Lilians bryst, og han kunne mærke hvordan hendes hjerte slog. Han famlede med hænderne for at finde noget at holde fast i og fik fat i hendes skuldre. Hans bevægelser blev voldsommere og han var flere gange ved at falde ned af hende. Han kunne mærke hvordan hele sengen gyngede med.
   Han kunne høre at hun trak vejret hvæsende. Da han lagde hænderne på hendes skuldre havde hun lagt armene om hans. Det var mærkeligt og rart at føle hendes tynde arme om sig.
   Ralf mærkede med ét at det var lige ved at komme ud af pikken, og han skubbede sig hastigt ned fra Lilian, så det sprøjtede ud på lagnet. Lilian havde rejst sig op på albuerne og stirrede på det med alle tegn på væmmelse.
   ,,Ralf! Dit svin!"
   ,,Hold kæft! Det er det man får børn af." Han skubbede sig længere væk fra hende. Hun sprang ud af sengen til den anden side.
   ,,Se at få det tørret op," sagde hun mens hun hev sit undertøj på. ,,Min mor bliver tosset hvis hun ser det."
   Ralf halede sit lommetørklæde frem af bukselommen og kørte febrilsk henover lagnet med det. Han havde lagt sig ned bag sengen så Lilian ikke kunne se hans pik. Pletten forsvandt ikke helt, men det gjorde den måske når den tørrede. Han lagde hurtigt dynen henover den. Så skyndte han sig ogsa at få tøjet på.
   Lilian blev færdig før ham og hun begyndte at lægge dynen på plads i den anden seng.
   ,,Tag fat i sengetæppet derovre," sagde hun til Ralf mens han var ved at binde sine snørebånd. Ralf slap snørebåndene og hjalp hende med at glatte sengetæppet ud. Så bukkede han sig ned og bandt sine sko'. Lilian stod foran toiletspejlet og kørte fingrene igennem sit hår.
   ,,Skal du ikke have trukket rullegardinet op?" sagde Ralf. Han stod i døren til stuen og vidste ikke hvad han ellers skulle sige. Lilian var stadig meget rød i kinderne.
   ,,Jo." Lilian gik hen og trak i snoren. Gardinet gled skurrende på plads om stangen. I det pludselige grålige lys stod de og så på hinanden. Ralf mærkede at han var meget træt, men samtidig jublede det indeni ham: Vi har gjort det! jeg har bollet med Lilian! Tanken var for stor til at han kunne fatte det lige nu. Det havde været noget helt andet, da det kom til stykket. Meget besværligt og anstrengende, ikke som i drømme. Men han havde gjort det.
   Ralf gik ind i stuen. Lilian fulgte efter.
   ,,Jeg skal hjem nu," sagde Ralf.
   ,,Ja," sagde Lilian. ,,Hvad er klokken?" Ralf så på sit armbåndsur. Den var fire.
   ,, Fire. "
   ,,Nåh, så kommer min far ikke endnu."
   Lilian trådte helt hen til ham. Hun så på ham med et mærkeligt blik.
   ,,Må jeg røre ved din pik igen?" spurgte hun.
   ,,Nej, ikke nu!" vrissede Ralf. ,,Jeg skal hjem. Måske i morgen.«
   ,,Så er min mor hjemme," sagde Lilian surt.
   ,,Vi kan gå ud på lossepladsen," foreslog Ralf.
   ,,Det er for koldt," fastslog Lilian.
   ,,Okay," sagde Ralf opgivende. ,,Så gør det nu." Han spændte livremmen op og trak bukseme ned. Hans pik hang slapt ned. Han syntes den lugtede. Lilian lagde sin smalle hånd på den. Ralf trak hende pludselig ind til sig og lagde sit ansigt mod hendes hals. Han kunne mærke at pikken begyndte at blive stiv igen. Han trak sig hurtigt væk og fik den proppet i bukserne igen.
   ,,Du siger det ikke til nogen!" sagde han til hende.
   ,,Nej! Er du rigtig klog!" Lilian fnisede.
   ,,Heller ikke til Dorrit!"
   ,,Nej, på ære!"
   De stod lidt og så forbi hinanden.
   ,,Jeg skal hjem," sagde Ralf. Han vendte sig og gik ud i entreen. Lilian fulgte efter.
   ,,Og du siger det altså ikke!" sagde han.
   ,,Ama'r! " Lilian førte hånden henover halsen.
   ,,Nå, farvel," sagde Ralf.
   ,,Farvel," sagde Lilian.
   Ralf sprang ned ad trappen. Han hørte hvordan Lilian hurtigt og forsigtigt lukkede døren efter ham.

21 Dage i Juli

Kasper Ginning

SIDE 45-48

   Vibs rejser sig pludselig, står et øjeblik med benene snoet stramt sammen og foretager slangeagtige vridninger med underkroppen.
   »Jeg er tistrængen« kundgør hun, ret overflødigt, mens hun går nogle skridt ind i det høje græs.
   »Det er så let når man ingen tøj har på« betror hun mig. »Man sætter sig bare på hug og lader som om man plukker blomster. Av for fanden. Tidsler«.
   De sidste udbrud fremkommer lige idet hun vil sætte sig for at praktisere metoden. Hun rejser sig helt igen, står et øjeblik let skrivende og kikker sig søgende omkring i græsset. Indtil hun pludselig får en lys ide, flytter fødderne lidt mere fra hinanden og laver på drengevis en glinsende stråle, som får ranunklerne til at dukke hovedet og græshopperne til at springe for livet. Hun må lukke sig selv lidt op med fingerspidserne for at få strålen lige og regelmæssig. Hendes ansigtsudtryk er ikke spor artigt at se pa mens det sker.
   ».Åh det lettede.,< sir hun befriet.
   »Godt præsteret, min dreng,< sir jeg faderligt. »Husk blot altid at klog sømand tisser aldrig til luvard. Og klog landmand aldrig på det elektriske hegn«.
   Siesta bagefter. Hun ligger udstrakt med hænderne under nakken og det ene ben trukket lidt op, gumler på et græsstrå og svinger det løftede knæ en

smule frem og tilbage. Hendes nøgenhed virker så selvfølgelig, at vi begge næsten har glemt hun nogensinde har haft tøj på. Øjnene er døsigt lukkede.
   Det er mine ikke. jeg ligger på siden med hovedet støttende i hånden og kan slet ikke blive træt af at se på hende.
   »Du sir det ikke til nogen. Vel?« spør hun så. »Hvad for noget?«
   »Det jeg gjorde før. Stod op og tissede«.
   »Nåh det. Nej selvfølgelig ikke. Der skal ikke komme et ord over mine læber. - Men så snart jeg får råd vil jeg rejse en marmorstatue af dig i netop den stilling. Som et rigtigt springvand. Du skal stå pa torvet og der skal vokse levende smørblomster for din fod. På soklen skal der stå DEN TISSENDE VIBS. Selvfølgelig med så små bogstaver at næsten ingen opdager det«.
   »Du er rigtig tarvelig. jeg slår dig ihjel hvis du gør det«.
   »Jamen hvis jeg nu lar dig sprøjte med sød champagne, sa alle og enhver kan drikke af dig og opleve hvor berusende du er?«
   »NEJ. jeg tæver dig hvis du gør det«.
   »Jeg synes ellers det var sådan en god ide. - Nå, marmor er vist osse ret dyrt for tiden«.
   Hun spytter græsstrået ud og døser videre uden at sige mere. Vejret er så mildt, ingen stikkende sol men blot denne stille varme. jeg ligger længe, tvivlende, så tar jeg mod til mig og bøjer mig forsigtigt frem over hende. jeg puster et par hår væk fra hendes øre, -ander ind i det uden den mindste berøring, men hvis hun er vågen kan hun mærke min nærhed. Så nipper mine læber i øreflippen, stryger over den bløde hud lige under og fortsætter ned mellem de spredte hår på halsen. Nu er jeg sikker på hun er vågen, men om hun nyder det ved jeg ikke. Hun lar det bare ske og bliver roligt liggende med små dovne bevægelser.
   Læberne søger videre som et lille dyr der sonderer sit nye territorium. Over skulderen ind i armhulen med en anet duft af sved. Leger med brystvorten og ribbenenes bølgeflade. Finder et par modermærker. Kryber længe frem og tilbage mellem navlens grube og den omgivende hud, blød som muldvarpeskind. Hendes legeme er forbavsende modtagelig for kærtegn, ikke spor afvisende. Er det, mon kun for at glæde mig?
   Hun ligger helt udstrakt nu med benene samlede. Venusbjerget står så smukt markeret i hendes anatomiske landskab, med dyb kløft og en anelse tættere dunbevoksning. jeg føler mig dristig som en alpinist idet jeg betræder toppen af bjerget med læberne, men den beruselse jeg føler derved er nok en anden end hans. Det er ikke nogen sejrsrus, blot denne stille glæde ved at kalde i mørke og få svar.
   Længe ligger jeg sådan med ansigtet presset mod hendes skød. jeg føler kun hendes krops bløde rundinger, hører kun insekternes tidløse orkester. Ved at trække vejret kan jeg fornemme den svage duft af pigekøn og den endnu stærkere af åvand og grøde, som stadig hænger i hendes hud. Heller ikke hun bevæger sig, blir blot liggende med benene lukket. Måske den sidste tøvende modstand, måske blot fordi hun bedst kan lide det sådan.
   Kan dette virkelig være mig?

Side 49-51

   Lørdag 18. juli
   Det er morgen, ret sent, og jeg begynder langsomt at stige op mod bevidsthedens overflade. Først lydene, ' lyset. Dernæst en uvant fornemmelse, men først
   sa
   da jeg er helt vågen erkender jeg hvad det er. En pigeskikkelse som ligger klods op ad mig, mærkeligt forvreden men stadig i dyb søvn. Den alt for varme dyne er til dels sparket væk i søvne, og natkjolen har hun på et eller andet tidspunkt krænget af og slængt hen over natbordet. Selv ligger jeg som altid nøgen.
   Teoretisk kan jeg frigøre mig fra hendes krops berøring blot ved at bevæge mig en smule. Men jeg bevæger mig ikke en millimeter. Om lidt vil mit hjertes larmende dunken alligevel vække hende, hun vil trække dynen op over sig og min konflikt vil være løst.
   Hvis ikke det havde været for den lille del af min krop, der nu forråder mig. Den begynder at bevæge sig, strækker sig som et bevidst handlende væsen frem og rører ved hendes hofte. Et lille emsigt dyr der snuser til og kæler for hende med snuden. Men bortset fra denne spontane reaktion har jeg indtil dette øjeblik intet foretaget mig for at skabe den uvante situation, jeg kan med god samvittighed sige at den har skabt sig selv.
   Og pigen ligger lige så ubevægelig som jeg, hendes andedræt er lige så regelmæssigt som mit. Da pludselig ser jeg hendes øjne åbne sig og lukke sig hurtigt igen. Hvor længe hun faktisk har været vågen ved jeg ikke. Kun ved jeg at hun i dette øjeblik er fuldt klar over, hvordan jeg rører ved hende og at hun i det mindste accepterer det, måske nyder det eller finder det spindende. Hun har hele tiden frit kunnet bevæge sig væk fra mig, har ikke gjort det, og gør det stadigvæk ikke, selv nu da vore øjne har afsløret hinanden.
   Mit fald er brat, svimlende. - jeg lægger hånden den af hendes hofter der er længst væk og drejer hende ind mod mig med et let tryk næsten kun som et hviskende spørgsmål. Hendes skikkelse svarer ja ved at give efter for trykket, så jeg ganske let kan glide ind mellem de lukkede lår, dog uden at trænge rigtigt op i hende. Med hånden stadig på hoften styrer jeg hende i blide vuggende bevægelser. Hendes øjne er hele tiden lukkede.
   »Det gør ikke ondt. Vel?« spør jeg hviskende.
   »Nej«.
   jeg slipper med hånden, hun fortsætter selv i samme rytme. Måske nyder hun det ikke helt så meget som jeg, men det må trods alt være en ny og stærk oplevelse for hende at føle den spændte fallos og mine kropshår mod sin helt nøgne hud.
   Det er længe siden jeg sidst har været sammen med en kvinde. jeg kommer uventet pludselig, i tre-fire kraftige ryk, mens jeg holder hende tæt ind mod mig.
   Den fysiske spænding klinger af, jeg er pludselig urolig over at den har tilkendegivet sig så mærkbart. Bare hun nu ikke blir forskrækket over det eller får afsky for mig, jeg vil så nødigt have fortryllelsen til at briste. Hvis hendes uforbeholdne tillid går tabt nu, vil jeg synke i en mørk afgrund af fortvivlelse.
   Hun har mærket det ske og rejser sig op på albuerne for at kikke ned i sit åbne skød.
   »Får jeg nu et barn?« spør hun, forbavsende uberørt af denne mulighed.
   »Nej, du skal være ældre, og så skal du have den helt ind i dig. Ellers blir der ikke noget barn ud af det« svarer jeg mens jeg rækker hende et lommetørklæde.
   »Det ligner tapetklister« er hendes ligefremme kommentar mens hun bruger lommetørklædet.
   » Tapetklister? « gentar jeg overrasket.
   -Vi har lige fået nyt tapet i stuen, det blev sat op med noget der ligner«.

Side 57-59

   Det er sengetid, jeg ligger allerede under tæppet. Hun kommer fra badeværelset og sætter i et højt spring op på mig for at skyde genvej til sin egen - eller rettere Lindas - seng. Det behøver ikke være nogen udfordring, det gør hun så tit. Men jeg griber hende, prøvende, og da jeg ikke møder modstand ligger hun i næste nu ved min side under tæppet. Så er jeg pludselig fyldt med tvivl, bange for nederlag,
   for jeg ved stadig ikke hvor jeg har hende. Det er heller ikke sikkert hun ved hvor hun har mig.
   Der kan dog ikke ske så meget ved at jeg tar hendes hånd og leder den på vej, nærmest som et forslag. Hun kan så lade den blive hvor jeg anbringer den, eller trække den væk som hun nu har lyst.
   Men hun lar hånden blive og lukker den endda omkring mig, der hvor al min attrå i dette øjeblik er koncentreret. Hendes håndtryk er fast, men føles dog venligt og fortroligt.
   Så rækker jeg hånden ud for at slukke lampen, tusmørket er mere blufærdigt og tillader mig at slå tæppet til side. Den lune natteluft føles blød mod min nøgne hud. Men mine bevægelser har skræmt hendes hånd bort.
   Vi ligger lidt uden at røre hinanden, hun på siden og jeg på ryggen. Mon hun hører mit hjertes voldsomme dunken, forstår hun dets kalden? - I hvert fald kan hun, hvis hendes øjne blot er åbne, se min stærke længsel der står som et monument, lille men udtryksfuldt i skumringen.
   Og hendes hånd er jo inviteret, så længe varer det ikke før den kommer listende igen, omend tøvende som et egern der første gang drister sig til at tage nødder fra en fremstrakt hånd.
   Fingerspidserne stryger nænsomt, undersøgende over dette mystiske, næsten ukendte væsen. Afprøver dets hårdhed, blødhed, rynkethed, spændstighed. Tilsyneladende kan hun ikke rigtigt forestille sig at jeg kan have nogen følesans tilfælles med en skabning der er så fremmed for hendes egen anatomi. Hvis hun blot er tilstrækkelig forsigtig, opdager jeg sikkert ikke hvor nysgerrig hendes hånd er.
   Men det gør jeg. Hendes kriblende fingerspidser sender rislende strømme gennem hele mit nervesystem, og det må de gerne blive ved med, bare en time endnu. - Hendes hånd blir dog mæt Iænge før, men da jeg drejer mig om mod hende lidt efter, leder hun mig selv på rette vej, hendes hånd er ikke spor i tvivl.

Side 66

   Vibs sidder klam og ynkelig i bilen hjem. Hun kommer direkte i badekarret, og jeg går med efter indhentet tilladelse. Vi sidder lidt over for hinanden og døser i det varme vand, jeg kan mærke hendes ben mod mine. Så sæber vi hinanden ind, min krop blir aldeles salig af hendes skumglatte hænders berøring, overalt. Mon hun nyder mine hænders indsæbning bare halvt så meget?

Side 69-71

   Om aftenen nyt overgreb på sagesløs person. jeg ligger læsende, er på vej med orientekspressen hvor sælsomme hændelser går i svang. Vibs som sædvanlig på vej ind over mig, da pludselig et elegant karatespark sender bogen fra mine hænder ind i det abentstående klædeskab. Imidlertid er mine reflekser blevet trænet op på det sidste, jeg fanger hendes højre ben i flugten. I-lun vrider sig om pa ryggen, spræller og sparker men jeg holder fast til hun blir træt og slap i alle muskler.
   Hun dufter ren og nyvasket så jeg modstår ikke fristelsen til at kysse hende. Hele mit legeme er pludselig meget nærværende. Min venstre overarm der
   stadig holder hendes højre lår fast mod min side, mens håndfladen mærker hendes bug som et køligt, vuggende åkandeblad. Mine læber der kryber gennem hårene på venstre læg, over inderlårets flødeagtige hud og ned i hendes varme skød. Min tungespids der søger forsigtigt, næsten blufærdigt finder og kæler. Længe.
   Hvad jeg føler samtidig er undren og taknemlighed. Fordi jeg mærker hendes krop så uforbeholdent tillidsfuld, kun fyldt med forventning og nysgerrighed, eftergivende for mine hænders lette dirigeren. Fordi hun trækker vejret så roligt mellem de let skilte læber. Og fordi hendes arme ligger bøjet med hvilende hænder, kun fingrene bevæger sig en smule.
   Da pludselig går en uro igennem hende, en skælven i underkroppen, hurtigere åndedrag og svag rødmen i kinderne. Er det virkelig muligt?
   Det er muligt Det samme gentar sig hver dag i de mange følgende dage. Samme dybe suk, samme skælven og rødmen. Og hos mig hver gang den samme glæde fordi jeg får lov at give hende disse øjeblikke.
   Men uundgåeligt får dette mig til igen at tænke på Karen. jeg husker næsten bedst hendes ejendommelige uskik, dengang et mysterium for mig og for andre, en vane med at sidde sammenkrøbet på alle fire og foretage besynderlige vuggende bevægelser med underkroppen. Imens stønnede hun svagt med øjnene enten udslukte som i trance eller helt lukkede.
   Det Så ejendommeligt, næsten lidt uhyggeligt ud. Når man var seksten år og ikke vidste ret meget om nogen ting, gættede man på en eller anden sindslidelse eller epilepsi. De andre grinede bare og kom med spottende tilråb.
   Men det var måske et held at heller ikke de vidste hvad der foregik, så var deres drillerier bare blevet værre. Hun onanerede nemlig. Først ti-femten år senere blev jeg klar over det, jeg læste det et eller andet sted. Der stod at børn undertiden opførte sig sådan for at opnå seksuel pirring ved gnidning mod tøjet. Men det der chokerede mig var den afsluttende sætning: Foretages mest af børn som er ulykkelige.
   netop sa                      a

Side 73-75

   Det er middag, Vibs kommer ind efter togt i jordbærbedet og blir et øjeblik stående i havedøren, hun er kun i shorts. Ligusterhækkens skyggeside danner en næsten sort baggrund for hendes figur der bagfra er fuldt belyst af solen. Den tegner en skinnende glorie i hendes uredte hårmanke og trækker skikkelsens konturer op med en aura af lysende kropshår. Ansigtet ligger helt i skygge.
   »Du« sir jeg.
   » Ja, hvad så?«
   » Du sir det ikke til nogen. Vel? «
   »Hvad for noget?« spør hun, men hun ved godt hvad jeg mener.
   »Det vi gør sammen. Kæler med hinanden, og sådan«.
   »Nej«.
   » Heller ikke Susi? «
   »Nej«.
   Der sker ikke dig noget hvis det opdages, men jeg risikerer en rædsom ballade«.
   » Jeg sir ikke noget«.
   Mærkelig nok er jeg helt tryg ved at vide min skæbne i hendes hånd. Et par ord fra hendes mund og jeg er leveret. Det har hun måske vidst hele tiden, men jeg.vil bare lige sikre mig. For hun ved allerede en del om sex, har sikkert været orienteret længe gennem en moderne mors opdragelse. Ved osse hvad ordet »samleje« står for, selv om hun tror det betyder at »lege sammen«. jeg finder ingen grund til at bringe hende ud af vildfarelsen, faktisk kan jeg bedst lide denne fortolkning af ordet.
   Hvad angår mandens specielle udstyr og stolthed, kender hun det vist mest fra billeder. Ylart nok
   sa
   er hun nysgerrig, men osse lidt undselig. Tør i begyndelsen kun røre flygtigt, se flygtigt, og smiler halvt undskyldende, hvis hun opdager at jeg blir opmærksom på hendes interesse. Derfor undgår jeg ethvert anstrengt smil eller andre tegn på undseelse, som kan øge hendes egen forlegenhed.
   Hun er åbenlyst forundret over dette eksotiske væsens besynderlige adfærd, navnlig den magiske magt hun har over det. Med hændernes sommerfugleflagrende berøring kan hun vække det af dvale. Forvandle det fra død snegleagtig tilstand til et liv i rank værdighed. Og senere, efter kort instruks, er-
   farer hun den eksplosive virkning, der kan frembringes på samme magiske vis, blot med lidt mere håndfaste kærtegn.
   »Det dufter sødt. Slet ikke som tis« sir hun uanfægtet om slutresultatet af sin indsats.
   »Hvad kalder i sådan en fyr?« spør jeg. »Tissemand, selvfølgelig. Men drengene, ved du
   hvad de kalder den?«
   »Næh«, svarer jeg, ikke helt sandfærdigt for jeg kender da et par muligheder.
   »De sir -piller«. - Er det et frækt ord?«
   »Åh, jeg ved snart ikke. Det er vist ikke særlig frækt«.
   Svaret skuffer hende tilsyneladende.
   »Men hvad kalder de så pigernes?« vil jeg vide. »Ikke noget, vist. De sir bare »hullet«. Det er da
   ikke særlig frækt«.
   »Nej, jeg kan da et der er bedre«.
   »Hvad så?«
   »Kusse«.
   »Kusse?« kommer det lidt overrasket. »Det var da et sødt ord. - Kusse«.
   »Ja såmænd. Den kaldes osse »Skede«, »missekat«, »fjams« og henved hundrede andre ting. Kært barn har mange navne, ved du nok. Hvis det skal være rigtig fornemt sir man »vagina«, og mændenes kaldes »penis«. Det er vist de mest artige benævnelser man har for de »uartige« legemsdele.

Side 79-81

   Er hun ikke ved at blive lidt vel fortrolig med min krop, denne Vibs? - Når min maskuline prydelse nu er så flot, hvorfor kan hun så ikke behandle den med bare en lille smule større respekt? - Er det for eksempel helt rigtigt af hende, som det et par gange sker, at pirre mig til bristepunktet med sine kåde indfald, for derefter blot at give nævnte prydelse et spark, der efterlader den dirrende af harme, mens hun med en drilsk nisselatter forsvinder ud af huset for at spille bold eller plukke hindbær?
   jeg mener heller ikke det kan være helt passende, at hun ifører samme legemsdel en strikket dukkehue, oven i købet rød og med kvast. jeg må huske at se efter hvad der står i Emma Gads »Takt og Tone« om den slags.
   Men på den anden side, hvad er vore erotiske lege vel andet end en ny måde at opleve tilværelsen '? Som at klatre i træer, svømme eller hoppe i sjip-
   pa
   pctov. Man prøver det når lejlighed gives, og hvis der er noget ved det, så udnytter man de muligheder der ligger i det indtil man ikke gider længere eller f år travlt med noget andet.
   Da først genertheden er borte og erstattet med fortrolighed, viser det sig hurtigt at hun er lige så opfindsom som jeg, et naturtalent åbenbart. Vist er det mig som lægger ud, ingen tvivl om den ting. Og det er osse mig der i begyndelsen har de gode forslag, men hvorfor skal jeg bestemme det hele? Hvis man leger, må enhver bidrage efter evne når inspirationen melder sig.
   Det gør den således i dag til morgen. Hun vågner op og er sulten. Går ud efter noget spiseligt og kommer tilbage med en plade chokolade, det kræver ingen tilberedning. På vejen flår hun indpakningen af og kaster den i pedalspanden i badeværelset, ikke alene fordi hun er husmoder-pertentlig, også fordi det morer hende at lade spanden snappe affald med sit glubske gab. Hun hopper op i sengen, brækker chokoladen i stykker og byder først sig selv, derpå mig. Vi gumler i fællesskab og suspenderer tandlægens advarsler imens.
   Da sparker hun pludselig med et overraskende spjæt mit kyske tæppe bort, så det kun dækker fødderne. Hendes fod begynder langsomt at stryge op og ned ad min læg, lidt højere op for hvert strøg. Nu
   er hun oppe over mit knæ, hun nyder vist at lade fodens bløde hud fornemme hårvæksten p-a I-aret. Det morer hende nok osse at iagttage kødets opstan~ delse. Og imens fortsætter hun med at gnaske chokolade i sig. - Men så blir foden mere nærgående. Den søger ind over min underkrop, støder ligesom tilfældigt på et fremspring. På abevis prøver tæerne at gribe fat omkring dette, men får ikke noget godt greb. »Grenen« er for tyk, tæerne kan kun vrikke med den og skubbe den løse hudfold op og ned. jeg ligger bare med lukkede øjne og lader som ingenting. Hun leger jo så godt, og hendes berøringer gør min krop så glad.
   »Gab!« kommer det uventet. »Du er en pedalspand, gab så«.
   I den løftede hånd over mit ansigt holder hun en bid chokolade, mens hun træder »pedalen« ned,'Imodigt to-tre gange, indtil jeg fatter ideen og uta begynder at fungere. To gange endnu træder hun ned på nævnte pedal og hver gang åbner jeg gabet for at snappe en chokoladebid. Så må hun holde op, helt sammenkrummet af latter. jeg har aldrig før hørt hende le så perlende.

Side 88-92

   »Vi må hellere vande idag, gider du hente vippevanderen i garagen?«. Det gør hun, men hun finder osse et pistolstrålerør og skal absolut have det monteret på haveslangen for at prøve det først. Selvfølgelig blir hun helt ustyrlig da det viser sig at kunne lave en kraftig strale på fire-fem meters længde, et farligt våben i hænderne pa uansvarlige personer. Det går da osse som man kunne vente, før jeg når at protestere har hun spulet et myrebo sønder og sammen, knækket adskillige blomster og gennemblødt alt det tøj jeg har på.
   Vild jagt for at statuere et eksempel. Hun når lige at få endnu en fuldtræffer ind, men må så nedlægge vabenet for at tage flugten. Der ryger et par tomatplanter før jeg fanger hende midt i salatbedet. Nu kunne jeg godt bruge et par håndjern, hun vrider sig
   som et bundt levende slanger, indtil jeg får hende anbragt på maven holdt fast med min ene hånd og et knæ. Med den frie hånd kan jeg lige nå strålepistolen, lirke den ned under hendes bukseelastik og trykke af.
   jeg kunne lige så godt have stukket en kniv gennem hende, at dømme efter hylet. Vandet er iskoldt og under stærkt tryk. jeg slipper hende også straks, måske har jeg været lidt for voldsom. »Uh hvor er du fejg« hun er rasende og grædefærdig. Går lidt omkring og mukker med martyrmine. Så stryger hun de pladdervåde shorts af og forsøger at ramme mig i hovedet med dem. jeg når dog at gribe, vrider dem bare og hænger dem til tørre i et blommetræ.
   jeg går ind for at skifte det våde tøj til badebukser, tar en krimi og et tæppe med ud igen. Vibs går stadig rundt på plænen, kun iført et hefteplaster med krøllede hjørner. Hun går og plukker blomster med tæerne, somme tider en ad gangen og somme tider ved at sparke gennem en klynge kongepen så blomsterkronerne kiler sig fast i tæernes mellemrum. Hun er liså ferm til at samle småsten og kviste op med dem.
   »Du må være nærmere beslægtet med aberne end andre folk« bemærker jeg men får kun en næsevrængen til svar, det er stadigvæk lidt synd for hende.
   jeg anbringer mig på tæppet i skyggen af æbletræet og tar fat på krimien. Nu må det snart komme for en dag hvem der myrdede den gamle butler, ham der ellers var så god som paven selv. Vibs sidder lidt borte i skrædderstilling og puster fnok i skyer af blomster hun har plukket. Hun er stadig stum, jeg må ikke gøre sådan noget en anden gang, kan jeg forstå af hendes surmulen.
   Så farer hun op med et sæt, vrider sig rundt og klasker med hånden der hvor hun er mest rund.
   »Æv, tissemyrer kommer det irriteret. Hun vender sig frem igen, skiller benene i ruder-es facon og fanger osse et par i sin fure.
   jeg blir så bevæget ved at se hende opføre sig så frimodigt. Der er intetsomhelst udfordrende at spore i hendes adfærd, ikke engang den drengede frækhed som hun tit demonstrerer med sit typiske Mikkel Mus grin. Hun er blot i dette øjeblik mere optaget af myrernes tilstedeværelse end af min.
   Hun smider sig på ryggen med mig som hovedpude, mine synder er tilgivet. Det er vist tilfældigt at hun lægger sit hoved netop i mit skød, men berøringen af hendes nakke fremkalder straks en helt naturlig reaktion hos mig som hun ikke kan undgå at bemærke.
   »Hvorfor gør du den stiv? « spør hun.
   »Hvad for en? - Nåh, kæledyret. Det er ikke noget jeg gør med vilje. Det sker helt af sig selv når du rører ved den, eller hvis jeg kommer til at tænke på at du rører ved den«.
   »Hm. - Hvorfor kalder du den kæledyret?«
   »Det er fordi den godt kan li når du kæler med den« sir jeg listigt. Intet svar, hun blir bare liggende uden at fjerne hovedet. - Pønser hun mon på.noget? Pludselig vender hun sig om på siden med kinden hvilende mod min mave og ansigtet vendt bort fra mit. Hendes hånd begynder at snige sig op i mit ene bukseben, som en hundesnude.
   »Kan du mærke noget? vil hun vide.
   »Hvem, mig? - jeg ved ikke hvad du snakker OM«.
   » Og du kikker heller ikke? «
   »Jeg ku aldrig drømme om at kikke« bedyrer jeg. Det er nu heller ikke nødvendigt. Selv om jeg ligger med lukkede øjne er min krop ikke spor i tvivl om hvad der foregår. Hendes hånd får pludselig bid, med et snuptag vrider den fangsten ud af buksebe~ net. Fingerspidserne begynder at stryge varsomt op og ned over den spændte hud, undersiden, oversiden, hovedet. Det optar hende nogen tid.
   Endelig en pige der forstår at værdsætte mine fysiske fortrin.
   »Sov så« befaler hun.
   »Jeg sover« svarer jeg lydigt. I næste nu har hun lagt sig oven på mig, og uanfægtet som en lastbilchauffør der skifter gear fører hun fangsten fra før ind mellem sine lår og klemmer dem sammen.
   Forsidestof til frokostbladene: MAND VOLDTAGET AF 8-9 ÅRIG PIGE. - POLITIET HAR KUN SPARSOMT SIGNALEMENT AT GÅ EFTER.
   jeg føler ikke tyngden af min egen krop, kun min venindes der hviler oven på mig som et langt kærtegn. Mine hænder glider i blide strøg fra hendes knæhaser op over bagdelens rundinger, taljens svaj og den smidige ryg. Men fingrene kæmmer jeg det lange hår ud over mit ansigt som et slør. Det er silkeagtigt duftende.
   Hun ligger ubevægelig med kinden hvilende mod mit bryst. jeg kan fornemme hendes ånde mod huden, hendes hænder der adspredt kærtegner mine skuldre og overarme, hendes hår som kilder mit ansigt.
   »Jeg kan høre dit hjerte banke« kommer det omsider.
   »Det er fordi jeg lever«.

Side 108-110

   Om eftermiddagen skal vi lege far-mor-børn, jeg blir ikke engang spurgt. Men det skal være så realistisk som muligt, vi må starte med undfangelsen.
   »Tag så tøjet af« kommanderer hun. »Nej for resten, det er nok med bukserne«.
   Af en eller anden grund er jeg pludselig lidt genert, maske fordi oplægget er så anderledes, lidt for kontant. jeg har svært ved at gå rigtigt op i legen og blir med et nervøs for at jeg ikke sådan på kommando kan komme i den stemning der kræves når slægten skal fortsættes. Mandens evige bekymring.
   Det problem har hun ikke, hun sparker bare bukserne af, men heldigvis virker hun så æggende, kun iført grønne sokker og træningsdragtens trøje der stumper til navlen at mit problem straks løser sig selv. Uden at måtte skuffe hendes forventning kan jeg lade bukserne gå samme vej som hendes.
   Vi skal sidde over for hinanden på knæ, hendes imellem mine. Det må hun have set i en bog eller et blad, jeg har i hvert fald ikke lært hende det. jeg skal bare læne mig en smule tilbage, hun ordner resten. Griber fat, vipper ned og sætter sig overskrævs pa. Det er også hende der gør de blide bevægelser mens hun ser skiftevis ned imellem os og op på mig. Vi smiler lidt til hinanden, sammensvorent som to skoledrenge, der har lagt tegnestifter på lærerens stol.
   Lidt efter kommer jeg i en himmelsk udløsning, det må hun da blive gravid af.
   »Så« sir hun bare idet hun snapper bukserne fra gulvet og farer ind på sit eget værelse. Hun er hurtigt tilbage, iført hele træningsdragten med noget stoppet indenfor trøjen, højgravid. Alting går så hurtigt i vore dage.
   Så blir faderværdigheden frataget mig, jeg er nu doktoren der skal klare forløsningen. Ifører mig derfor højtidelig mine og kittel, desværre har jeg ingen hvid, kun en brun arbejdskittel men det blir godtaget.
   Hun kommer ind og klager over veerne. jeg ber hende lægge sig på sofaen, kalder hende »lille fru Sørensen« og beroliger med at det nok skal gå altsammen. Føler på hendes tykke mave og lytter med øret til for at konstatere hjertelyd. Stetoskopet har jeg desværre glemt i maven på den sidste operationspatient, forklarer jeg undskyldende.
   Endelig forløser jeg hende, fødslen går glat. Det blir en meget velskabt dukke med store blå øjne og hørgule krøller, og både mor og barn befinder '
   godt.

Side 114-116

   Om aftenen på terrassen is med blåbær, solen er gaet ned men luften er stadig lun. Langs horisonten i nordvest en lang blågrå sky, som en fjern ukendt bjergkæde. Himlen bagved i dæmpet rosa med enkelte træer i forgrunden som skarptklippede silhouetter. Kun et par summende myg forstyrrer idyllen. Foruden visheden om at alt f år en ende.
   Lidt senere til køjs. Hun ligger på maven ovenpa dynen og læser i et serichefte med måsen strittende en smule i vejret. jeg overvinder fristelsen til at give den et klask, bøjer mig i stedet ned, trækker natkjolen op og kysser dens halvkugler, et kys på hver. Så presser jeg ansigtet mod dem. Silkepuder.
   Hun læser stadig, har tilsyneladende intet opdaget. Men idet jeg løfter hovedet vrider hun sig lækatteagtig om på ryggen og folder sig ud som en blomst i tidsforkortet filmgengivelse.
   »Slik mig så« kommer det på hendes rappe drilske facon. »Men pas på du ikke kilder mig«.
   Så jeg prøver på ikke at kilde.
   Noget senere. Vi ligger udstrakt oven på sengetøjet, det er alt for varmt under, og dagens brændende sol sidder endnu i vores hud. En kat går
   forbi udenfor mens den jamrer sin kvalfulde længsel ud i den ellers lydtomme nat.
   »Gjorde du osse sådan med Linda?«
   »Ja da«.
   »Tit?«
   -Ret ofte mens vi var gode venner. Hendes den- der-du-ved-nok hed Pjuske. - Blandt venner i hvert fald«.
   »Hvem af os kan du så bedst li at gøre det med?« »Dig selvfølgelig. Du har ingen missehår der kan
   kilde mig i næsen«. - Kort tænkepause.
   »Hvornår mon jeg får det?«
   »Hvad for noget? - Nåh, kussehår. Forhåbentlig aldrig, det klær dig så godt uden. Men sandsynligvis når du blir 1 O- 1 2 år«.
   »Hvad gjorde I ellers?« Pumper hun videre.
   -Alt hvad der er dejligt at gøre ved hinanden«. »Fortæl bare hvad I gjorde. jeg sir det ikke til nogen«. Hun er åbenbart fast besluttet på at tømme jalousiens bitre bæger til bunds, så jeg skænker i med gavmild hånd.
   »Vi bollede På alle mulige måder, og kyssede og kælede med hinanden overalt. jeg ku især li at lege med hendes bryster, de hed Bams og Bine og var som små lækre buddinger med hindbær på toppen«.
   »Hindbær?«
   »Ja, brystvorterne altså. De så liså vigtige og frække ud som små opstoppernæser«.
   jeg ligger På ryggen og stirrer kun op i loftet, ubevægelig og gravalvorlig. Gennem øjenkrogene kan jeg skimte hvordan min sidekammerat ligger og sparker arrigt med benene, mens hun vrider sig fra side til side, uden kommentarer af nogen art. Drilledjævelen i mig fortsætter:
   »Hun sagde det kildede helt ud i tæerne, når jeg suttede på dem, og hvis jeg fortsatte Iænge nok blev de lange og strittende, næsten som små tissemand. Til gengæld suttede hun så på min, altså den rigtige. En helt vidunderlig fornemmelse. Det er nu en skam du ikke tør gøre det samme«.
   En noget lusket bemærkning, indrømmer jeg. Lusket som en musefælde med fed ost i, selv om der ikke er store chancer for hun går i den.
   Så hendes spontane reaktion overrumpler mig trods alt. Et ordløst svar med læbe og tunge, hvis varme berøring forplanter sig som en mild strøm gennem mit udstrakte legeme. Selv om det kun er kortvarigt dvælende, kejtet og uforløsende.
   Og mine hænder blir med et så fulde af kærtegn. Som hun ligger der på maven kan jeg lige nå hendes ene ben og lade hånden stryge over den satinglatte hud, med fingerspidserne fornemmende varmen inde mellem de samlede lår, og mellem de to bløde rundinger under kjolesømmen, som min hånd til slut lukker sig om i et fast venskabeligt rusk.
   Et liså ordløst, og liså sigende svar som hendes.

Flossie i Bombay

Jack Ancher

Af nysgerrighed kastede Flossie, idet hun gik forbi, et blik ind gennem vinduet.
   Hun standsede brat op og stirrede. Hver fejltagelse var udelukket.
   På en sofa inde i den luxuriøst udstyrede kupé sad maharajaen af Sikkirn.
   Men han var ikke alene. Det, Flossie så, fik hende til at væmmes.
   Var det hendes Sadi? Den mand, som hun havde troet at elske og i hemmelighed håbet snart at gense?
   Maharajaen var kun iført en guldbroderet natkåbe, som han havde åbnet, så han var halvnøgen. Han sad bekvemt tilbagelænet mod en stor pude med halvtlukkede øjne, med en lang papyreas i den ene hånd og en lille pisk i den anden.
   På knæ foran ham lå to mindreårige nøgne piger med spinkle kroppe og korte fletninger. Flossie kunne tydeligt se deres spæde bryster og lemmer. Den ene pige holdt om maharajaens højre, den anden om hans venstre vrist og begge var ivrigt beskæftiget med at slikke ham under fodsålerne med deres små tunger. Tungerne for ud og ind på dem som på små kattekillinger, som labbede mælk.
   Det var dog ikke alt. På maven i sofaen ved siden af maharajaen lå en liIle dreng, måske otte år, helt nøgen også han, og med sit lille krøllede hoved begravet mellem benene på sin herre. Hvad han gjorde, var tydeligt. Med højre hånd holdt han om maharajaens store penis, som han suttede på af alle kræfter. Hovedet på drengen for op og ned.
   Nu og da gav maharajaen, tydeligvis alt efter som det faldt ham ind, barnet et lille rap med pisken.