after all.
Thus far, at least.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a bite to eat somewhere.’
He nodded.
‘I don’t want to appear negative, it’s just that I think we have to put a stop to these goings-on that we’ve embarked upon,’ she began. ‘I felt that it was wrong even before the last time, and it would be catastrophic if my mum got to hear about it.’
‘We can talk it over,’ he said. ‘How about Czerpinski’s Mill?’
She’d heard about that restaurant by the Maar out at Bossingen, but she had never been there. As far as she knew – and as the name suggested – it was a restored and revamped mill. Rather an elegant venue, in fact. White tablecloths and all that. She glanced at the clothes she was wearing – a pair of dark corduroy trousers and a wine-red tunic – and decided they would pass muster. Let’s face it, teenagers were teenagers after all.
‘That’s fine by me,’ she said. ‘As long as we don’t stay there too long – I ought to be home before ten.’
‘No problem,’ he assured her.
For a brief moment, while they were waiting for the food to be served, a mad thought flashed through her mind.
She would stand up and leave their little table hidden away in a corner. Step out into the middle of the restaurant and hold forth for the other guests sitting at tables next to the walls in the low, oblong room with its big oak tables and exposed roof beams.
‘Perhaps you think that the pair of us sitting at this table are a father and his daughter,’ she would say. ‘You no doubt assume that a generous dad is inviting his daughter to have a top-class meal in order to celebrate a birthday, or something of that sort. But that’s not the way it is at all. This man is my lover, and he’s my mum’s lover as well – just so that you know. Thank you for listening, please carry on with your meal.’
Just to see how they reacted. Him and the other guests at this sophisticated restaurant – which didn’t in fact have any white tablecloths, but whose class was clear from other subtle details, such as the weight of the cutlery, the thick hammered paper on which the menu was printed, the stiff-starched linen table napkins and the even stiffer-starched waiters.
‘I often give him a blow job,’ she might add. ‘Suck him off. Just so that you know.’
‘What are you sitting there thinking about?’ he wondered.
She could feel that she was blushing, and tried to cool things down with a drop or two of Coca-Cola.
‘Here comes the food,’ she said.
‘Does it torment you?’ he asked. ‘This affair between you and me.’
She thought for a moment.
‘I wouldn’t say it torments me,’ she said. ‘But it will have to stop now. I thought you’d grasped that.’
She noticed that he stiffened. Sat motionless for a few seconds before calmly but firmly putting his knife and fork down.
‘I had the impression that there were two of us involved,’ he said. ‘I seem to recall that those were the words you used.’
She didn’t answer, nor did she look at him.
‘If I accept you as a real woman – and isn’t that what you wanted? – you must also act like a real woman. And accept that I am a man. Do you know what I mean?’
A real woman? she thought. No, I don’t know what you mean.
But she said nothing.
‘I know full well that it wasn’t very good for you last time,’ he went on. ‘But that happens. You shouldn’t give up just because it’s not the same intense experience every time. You have to learn to forget it and move on.’
‘I don’t think I really understand what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘So you think we should carry on as before?’
He nodded.
‘Of course. Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want to, for instance.’
He smiled and put his hand on hers.
‘How can you know whether or not you want to continue if we don’t give it a try?’
She thought for a moment. Tried to find words that would somehow make holes in his stubborn
Thus far, at least.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a bite to eat somewhere.’
He nodded.
‘I don’t want to appear negative, it’s just that I think we have to put a stop to these goings-on that we’ve embarked upon,’ she began. ‘I felt that it was wrong even before the last time, and it would be catastrophic if my mum got to hear about it.’
‘We can talk it over,’ he said. ‘How about Czerpinski’s Mill?’
She’d heard about that restaurant by the Maar out at Bossingen, but she had never been there. As far as she knew – and as the name suggested – it was a restored and revamped mill. Rather an elegant venue, in fact. White tablecloths and all that. She glanced at the clothes she was wearing – a pair of dark corduroy trousers and a wine-red tunic – and decided they would pass muster. Let’s face it, teenagers were teenagers after all.
‘That’s fine by me,’ she said. ‘As long as we don’t stay there too long – I ought to be home before ten.’
‘No problem,’ he assured her.
For a brief moment, while they were waiting for the food to be served, a mad thought flashed through her mind.
She would stand up and leave their little table hidden away in a corner. Step out into the middle of the restaurant and hold forth for the other guests sitting at tables next to the walls in the low, oblong room with its big oak tables and exposed roof beams.
‘Perhaps you think that the pair of us sitting at this table are a father and his daughter,’ she would say. ‘You no doubt assume that a generous dad is inviting his daughter to have a top-class meal in order to celebrate a birthday, or something of that sort. But that’s not the way it is at all. This man is my lover, and he’s my mum’s lover as well – just so that you know. Thank you for listening, please carry on with your meal.’
Just to see how they reacted. Him and the other guests at this sophisticated restaurant – which didn’t in fact have any white tablecloths, but whose class was clear from other subtle details, such as the weight of the cutlery, the thick hammered paper on which the menu was printed, the stiff-starched linen table napkins and the even stiffer-starched waiters.
‘I often give him a blow job,’ she might add. ‘Suck him off. Just so that you know.’
‘What are you sitting there thinking about?’ he wondered.
She could feel that she was blushing, and tried to cool things down with a drop or two of Coca-Cola.
‘Here comes the food,’ she said.
‘Does it torment you?’ he asked. ‘This affair between you and me.’
She thought for a moment.
‘I wouldn’t say it torments me,’ she said. ‘But it will have to stop now. I thought you’d grasped that.’
She noticed that he stiffened. Sat motionless for a few seconds before calmly but firmly putting his knife and fork down.
‘I had the impression that there were two of us involved,’ he said. ‘I seem to recall that those were the words you used.’
She didn’t answer, nor did she look at him.
‘If I accept you as a real woman – and isn’t that what you wanted? – you must also act like a real woman. And accept that I am a man. Do you know what I mean?’
A real woman? she thought. No, I don’t know what you mean.
But she said nothing.
‘I know full well that it wasn’t very good for you last time,’ he went on. ‘But that happens. You shouldn’t give up just because it’s not the same intense experience every time. You have to learn to forget it and move on.’
‘I don’t think I really understand what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘So you think we should carry on as before?’
He nodded.
‘Of course. Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want to, for instance.’
He smiled and put his hand on hers.
‘How can you know whether or not you want to continue if we don’t give it a try?’
She thought for a moment. Tried to find words that would somehow make holes in his stubborn
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