Chapter 3

Unsurprisingly, I slept late the next morning. I got up feeling weird and uncertain of myself, almost as if the whole thing had been a dream, though I knew it hadn’t. In fact Klára had, accidentally I suppose, left her panties. They were lying on the floor where I’d pulled them off, hidden under a cushion that had fallen from my bed. I hadn’t noticed but she must have put her jeans on over her naked crotch the night before. I thought about her naked body and her loud, wet, continuous orgasms and stiffened. Oh God, what I have gotten myself into? She’d wanted me to stay the night. Had I insulted her by leaving? I couldn’t imagine what it would have been like. What if she’d wanted to do it again? She was loud. Her mother would have heard. Although I wasn’t at all sure that her mother would have been upset. I couldn’t make head or tail of it.

I’d realized by now, of course, that Klára was not exactly ... normal. Her extreme directness, her relative lack of interest in ordinary social conversation, ... I wasn’t really aware of “high-functioning autism” back then but as I said earlier, I think it must have been something like that. Her mother, on the other hand, just seemed like a normal, tremendously nice person, and I felt a kind of shame that she would think I had taken advantage of her daughter. But, well, who knows - perhaps she wouldn’t automatically assume we had had sex; perhaps if I’d agreed to stay last night they would have made me up a bed in a spare room; perhaps I was overthinking it anyway - Klára was an adult, even if she was probably younger than I’d originally thought.

It wasn’t weird that she was living with her mom; that was much more common over here than in the US, where everyone I knew moved away to go to college, and besides — my mind kept coming back to the uncomfortable truth — Klára obviously had some ... some difficulties. She might not be ready to live on her own. Fine. I wasn’t going to overthink it. I’d be careful, make sure not to take advantage, be a perfect gentleman with her and make clear my good intentions to her mother if we met again. And I had to admit, I wanted to see Klára again. I really liked her. She’d been more animated and interesting when her mother had drawn her into the conversation last night; she’d seemed almost normal for a while. Maybe I could draw her out like that. It was good to have a friend. A girlfriend. Whatever.

I contemplated her panties again. They were almost stiff with her dried juices. God, she’d gotten so wet last night. I guess she was really excited. I wished I hadn’t come the moment I put it in, but she obviously hadn’t minded; she’d come over and over and over as I’d eaten her out. We’d come together less frantically next time, maybe. I thought about Klára’s body again. She had a lot of pubic hair but, jeez, if I’d just seen her from the waist up I’d almost think she was just a teenager. Her breasts reminded of me of the way my sister’s had looked when I’d caught accidental glimpses of her when she was still growing. It wasn’t so much that they were small, though they weren’t big, but they weren’t, I don’t know, adult breasts. The thought kind of turned me on. I’d jerked off many times back then, thinking about my sister’s body. Klára didn’t look at all like my sister but ... still.

I didn’t know what was getting into me. I was hard as a rock. I put the panties to my face and breathed in Klára’s odor. Even dried, the panties were redolent of her. I was shockingly turned on. I felt like I was going to come without even touching myself. I thought about when she had first started to undress in front of me, had taken off her thick sweater and unbuttoned her blouse and released those small breasts from her bra; then I remembered how soaked her panties had been, the panties my face was buried in now, and I grabbed myself in a death grip and jerked a few times, imagining Klára’s bush at the last moment then. groaning, my halls aching with the intensity, I came all over my belly.

Feeling kind of gross, I carefully put the panties away in a drawer, took a shower, got dressed, grabbed my books and went down to the library to work. I didn’t stop by the bakery. I somehow felt I couldn’t face the normalcy of getting breakfast there and it was late anyhow, almost 11. I’d planned to stop by in the late afternoon, perhaps just before Klára got off, and see what would happen, but at 2, unable to concentrate on my research, I packed up and went home. I ate lunch, then sat around fidgeting for a while, then fell asleep.

At 5:30 there was a knock on the door. Shit. It was Klára, of course. (This was long before cell phones and I didn’t have a landline phone in my little rented apartment.) Klára walked in before I could invite her. She said “You didn’t come to the store today.” It wasn’t a reproach, just a statement of fact, but I still apologized, telling the truth - got home super late last night, overslept, was planning to stop by at the end of her shift but fell asleep. She nodded. “I’ll stay here tonight. I told my mom.” Heh. What could I do? I nodded, asked her if she was hungry. “I had a sandwich at the store.” “OK, I’ll make tea, then.” I filled a kettle and put it on the stove. She asked me if I had linden. I did, in fact — I’d picked up an assortment of tea bags at a herbalist a while back.