Chapter 4

My penis was touching my belly button. We lay down, and Klára said “I want to touch myself first. I do that every night.” I was a bit nonplussed. She lay on her stomach, her hand under her pelvis, and rocked back and forth, grunting a little with each push. I watched her, going almost out of my mind with desire. I gingerly put my hand on her butt. She didn’t seem to mind, so I slowly began to massage it, trying to keep in sync with her rocking motion. Eventually she began her mmmmmm sound and I ventured to put my finger on her anus and then she started with the aaaaaaaaa sound and I knew she was coming for the first time. I was kind of hoping she’d stop and we could start playing together but she kept masturbating like this, with her eyes closed, for at least ten minutes, alternating mmmmm and aaaaaaa, coming again and again.

Finally I couldn’t take it any more. I got a condom, then positioned myself behind her and pressed my erection against her backside. She got the idea and spread her legs; I could see her vaginal opening, ringed with hair and the tips of her fingers squeezed against the bed, pressed hard against her clitoris. A big wet stain was spreading under her. I didn’t care. I carefully inserted myself. Though the fit was tight, she was so lubricated that I slid right in. It felt totally different from the night before; now I was inflamed not just by pent-up physical need but by a real spark of desire for Klára herself, for the person I was discovering she was. I was trying not to get too stimulated, to make it last, but Klára’s rocking was killing me. As she went from mmmmm to aaaaaaa again I felt her contract around my shaft and it was too much; giving up, I groaned and emptied myself into her, or at least into the condom.

I’d lasted for two minutes at most, and I felt terrible, even though Klára had literally come at the same time I had. It hadn’t been because of anything I did! But as I lay there miserably on top of her, trying not to soften and slip out too soon, Klára surprised me yet again. She stopped rocking, and said “That felt very good. Let’s hold each other.” I clambered off and tried to put the condom somewhere it wouldn’t spill, while she lay on her side. I lay facing her, ignoring the huge wet spot under my hip. Klára looked happy. “I always get very wet,” she announced. I’d noticed. She snuggled up against me and I put my arms around her. “I like this,” she said. We fell asleep like that.

In the morning I woke up before her. She’d slipped out of my arms and onto her back and I looked at her closely. She just seemed ... ridiculously young, sleeping naked like this on the bed. I mean, obviously she was younger than me, I knew that, but I was starting to get afraid that was going to turn out to be 18 or something. It wasn’t that it was such a huge difference - I had just turned 25 - but at that age 7 years felt like it could be an insurmountable obstacle.

Then again, who was I kidding? I mean, regardless of whether she was 18 or 20 or whatever, there were much bigger differences here. I couldn’t think of her as slow or intellectually impaired any more, not after our math conversation last night — hell, she was brilliant. In math at least. A savant, even, perhaps. But obviously there was something off about her, intellectually, emotionally, socially; I couldn’t ignore that. And yet, here I was feeling almost like I was falling in love. That was why I was worried about her age, of course. I’d feel like a fool falling in love with an 18-year-old. Math genius or not.

Well, whatever. I looked at her chest, rising and falling softly. Those underdeveloped breasts again, even less prominent as she lay on her back, almost just swellings. Her slightly rounded belly. Except for the thick bush she almost looked like a young teenager. Was I sick to be attracted to her?

I thought again about my sister. We’d played doctor when we were young, like all siblings do, maybe even a little more than usual. We were close in age and emotionally. But when we began to sprout hair and she was getting boobs and stuff we’d tapered off. She hadn’t been particularly shy and I’d seen her nude or partially nude a few times over the years after that, like the time she changed into her swimsuit in front of me. The image of her breasts and genitalia from that and similar occasions was burned into my memory and I’d masturbated countless times to it over the years. Surely that was sicker than being attracted to Klára, so I should be happy to be replacing one weird attraction with another? Was it my fault that Klára’s immature breasts kind of reminded me of my sister’s? Certainly the rest of her was different. I thought briefly about the somewhat sparse tuft of hair that had topped my sister’s vulva the last time I’d caught a real glimpse of it, when we were in high school. There was no comparison whatsoever with Klára’s thick bush. I wondered idly if my sister got as wet as Klára, and whether she masturbated the same way; then scolded myself for even thinking of such a thing.