little distance away and now expected her to pass me the grinder, but she leaned back on the chair with arms dangling and did not move. When I rose and went to her, she looked up at me with laughter in her eyes. “You are nice,” she said softly. As I reached down for the grinder, she caught my hand and pressed it to the crank; with both hands over mine, she guided it slowly into motion.
I was bent over her uncomfortably, but there was little I coulddo to change my position short of crouching down or disengaging my arm. Her face was lifted toward mine; our eyes met and held for what seemed an eternity while the aroma of fresh-ground coffee wafted up from under our awkwardly moving hands. At last the crank turned without further resistance, but our hands continued absently for a few empty turns before slowing to a halt. In that instant our lips touched. When they parted, her eyes were wide with excitement; taking my hand from the handle, she plunged it deep where her legs met.
Somewhere a door opened and jolted me to my senses. It took a moment to withdraw my hand from the grip of her thighs. Approaching footsteps propelled me back into my seat. While I tried to calm my pounding heart and assume a natural expression, Marika proceeded with perfect composure to light the alcohol stove, after casting me a half-amused, half-contemptuous look. I remembered that I had not rung for service; just as I reached for the chord, Kate appeared at the door.
16
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----
Discomposed by the incident with Marika, Pinkerton wandered listlessly from the library and eventually strayed into his bathroom, constructed like most things in the house on a grandiose scale. Without thinking, he locked the door and started to undo his trousers. A sweet, stale feeling of familiarity drew him up short; his gestures and surroundings transported him back to an earlier period when, aroused from wrestling with Lisa, he would shut himself in to relieve the tension in his loins, purposeless as yet but already imperious. Later, this solitary pleasure had been largely relegated to the morning or evening hours; since his return from Japan, he had rarely sought it and then only in bed.
With a feeling of vexation, he left off and decided to draw a bath instead. He was glad his father had had the latest plumbing put in, which permitted bathing at all times, for in Japan he had gotten used to soaking daily in a hot furo. The warm water made him feel better, but the image of Marika was not long in reappearing and once more his desire rose up. He gave it a few half-hearted strokes, and when that made it only more exigent, he indulged it in a torpor, pulling the skin back from the head and pushing it over again, off and on and off. Shutting his eyes, he imagined himself back in the breakfast room: once again he is bent over Marika; this time he removes the coffee mill and slides the hem of her skirt up toward her waist, while she, sensually odorous, impatient, fumbles at his crotch; and he, fingers in the dense tuft, exploring, desire brandished, ushered in; her jouncing rasping desire, her moans rising, urging him on. . . And Kate, suddenly . . . Her piercing eyes, suddenly there, bearing down, boring into him, penetrating his gasping loins to the teeming semen rallied to charge. Her beautiful eyes. Watching.
He let his head tilt limply to the side as his lust dispersed in the quiescent water and floated off in languid milky wisps.
At the moment of bursting forth, with the abruptness of pictures changing in a magic lantern, Butterfly had suddenly been there to engulf him, mind and member and all, as she was each time when his loins opened, whether in company or alone: present herself or absent, it was always to her womb that his desire strove and in her flesh that it ebbed.
Sinking back in the warm water as into her arms, he could almost feel them folding him to her breast. Thus comforted, he lay thinking of Butterfly.
17
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----
----
----
That
I was bent over her uncomfortably, but there was little I coulddo to change my position short of crouching down or disengaging my arm. Her face was lifted toward mine; our eyes met and held for what seemed an eternity while the aroma of fresh-ground coffee wafted up from under our awkwardly moving hands. At last the crank turned without further resistance, but our hands continued absently for a few empty turns before slowing to a halt. In that instant our lips touched. When they parted, her eyes were wide with excitement; taking my hand from the handle, she plunged it deep where her legs met.
Somewhere a door opened and jolted me to my senses. It took a moment to withdraw my hand from the grip of her thighs. Approaching footsteps propelled me back into my seat. While I tried to calm my pounding heart and assume a natural expression, Marika proceeded with perfect composure to light the alcohol stove, after casting me a half-amused, half-contemptuous look. I remembered that I had not rung for service; just as I reached for the chord, Kate appeared at the door.
16
----
----
----
----
Discomposed by the incident with Marika, Pinkerton wandered listlessly from the library and eventually strayed into his bathroom, constructed like most things in the house on a grandiose scale. Without thinking, he locked the door and started to undo his trousers. A sweet, stale feeling of familiarity drew him up short; his gestures and surroundings transported him back to an earlier period when, aroused from wrestling with Lisa, he would shut himself in to relieve the tension in his loins, purposeless as yet but already imperious. Later, this solitary pleasure had been largely relegated to the morning or evening hours; since his return from Japan, he had rarely sought it and then only in bed.
With a feeling of vexation, he left off and decided to draw a bath instead. He was glad his father had had the latest plumbing put in, which permitted bathing at all times, for in Japan he had gotten used to soaking daily in a hot furo. The warm water made him feel better, but the image of Marika was not long in reappearing and once more his desire rose up. He gave it a few half-hearted strokes, and when that made it only more exigent, he indulged it in a torpor, pulling the skin back from the head and pushing it over again, off and on and off. Shutting his eyes, he imagined himself back in the breakfast room: once again he is bent over Marika; this time he removes the coffee mill and slides the hem of her skirt up toward her waist, while she, sensually odorous, impatient, fumbles at his crotch; and he, fingers in the dense tuft, exploring, desire brandished, ushered in; her jouncing rasping desire, her moans rising, urging him on. . . And Kate, suddenly . . . Her piercing eyes, suddenly there, bearing down, boring into him, penetrating his gasping loins to the teeming semen rallied to charge. Her beautiful eyes. Watching.
He let his head tilt limply to the side as his lust dispersed in the quiescent water and floated off in languid milky wisps.
At the moment of bursting forth, with the abruptness of pictures changing in a magic lantern, Butterfly had suddenly been there to engulf him, mind and member and all, as she was each time when his loins opened, whether in company or alone: present herself or absent, it was always to her womb that his desire strove and in her flesh that it ebbed.
Sinking back in the warm water as into her arms, he could almost feel them folding him to her breast. Thus comforted, he lay thinking of Butterfly.
17
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----
----
----
That
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