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Authors: Damian McDonald
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didnât come off â and pulled the dress over her head between his kisses.
âTake your shirt off, she demanded. She couldnât believe sheâd said it. A new her had taken over. One that she hadnât even met an hour ago.
She saw that the trickle of hair on his stomach was alone on his skin. Until he rolled off his jeans.
âAre you sure? he said.
âDo I feel it? she said.
She rubbed her readiness on the top of his thigh. And he was inside her, and kissing her. It hurt. He pushed it so hard and fast. But the pain was soothed as he kept pushing. Slower, but with a passion she would never have imagined a man could have.
âWhat about â should I stop? he asked.
âPlease, no, she said.
He lifted her body up to him. And breathed hard in her ear. He said her name. And eased her back onto the floor. He stayed on top of her. Moving much slower now. It felt incredible, and she wished it would last forever. But after a few more minutes he took it out. It hurt more when he took it out. But he hugged her until his breathing slowed again.
âJesus, he said, running his hand through his hair while leaning on his elbow. Iâm sorry.
âWhy? Can we hug again, please?
He lay back down next to her, and she could feel his arm.
âIâm too, um, old for you, he said. Sorry, I like you. Really like you. But you donât want to know how old I am, and I donât want to know how young you are.
âIâm sixteen, she said.
âIâm twenty-six, he said.
They were able to hug some more then, and even kiss. And finish the wine, and have sex again.
EIGHT
Whitey lay on the floor where heâd woken, where he must have passed out the night before. His mind tracked backward, trying to sort through flashes of what had happened the previous day. Heâd gone to the bottleshop, and had been drinking cask wine alone. Either celebrating or drowning something. No. Heâd been drinking to absorb shock. Heâd never had an afternoon like that. That girl, Sonja. Fuck. Sonja. He looked at where theyâd had sex. It made him feel horny â not in the usual hangover-bustinâ-fora-quick-hot-orgasm-just-for-a-moment-of-pleasure/escape horniness â but a smooth, genuine endorphin-filled horniness. He looked at the ceiling and smiled.
Sheâs only sixteen.
And all that speed, all that alcohol turned in him.
He sat up and tested the cask. He filled the glass. And smelt Sonja.
He lay back down and pulled the doona off his mattress. It had her on it and he breathed it, and breathed it. Tears stung his eyes with their toxicity, but he had to masturbate, and for the first time in his memory he thought of only one woman.
Or girl.
NINE
The intravenous drip was full, which meant that the nurse had only just been. So if her father appeared to be asleep, Sonja knew he was feigning. She wanted her father to be awake; she wanted to talk to him.
âDad, she said, and touched his arm. Hi, Dad, how are you feeling today?
Zakhar rolled towards his daughter and gave her a small snarl. Sonja knew the snarl was not aimed at her. It was his self-disappointment. Heâd told her, when theyâd been alone during her last visit, that it finally didnât matter if he drank anymore or not. But he no longer felt like it. The surgeons had removed that part of his liver that made him thirst, heâd said. And the years heâd spent in Australia had been thoroughly wasted.
Sonja kissed her fatherâs forehead.
âMum just took Peter to the toilet, she said.
He nodded and pulled himself higher up the bed.
âDad, she continued. I donât even know how to say this. I want to have a boyfriend. Sonja had thought about it all night and all morning between snatches of sleep in which she could feelherself smiling. She had to tell someone about Patrick. But she didnât want to tell her mother, not just yet. In case her mother couldnât handle it.
âTake your shirt off, she demanded. She couldnât believe sheâd said it. A new her had taken over. One that she hadnât even met an hour ago.
She saw that the trickle of hair on his stomach was alone on his skin. Until he rolled off his jeans.
âAre you sure? he said.
âDo I feel it? she said.
She rubbed her readiness on the top of his thigh. And he was inside her, and kissing her. It hurt. He pushed it so hard and fast. But the pain was soothed as he kept pushing. Slower, but with a passion she would never have imagined a man could have.
âWhat about â should I stop? he asked.
âPlease, no, she said.
He lifted her body up to him. And breathed hard in her ear. He said her name. And eased her back onto the floor. He stayed on top of her. Moving much slower now. It felt incredible, and she wished it would last forever. But after a few more minutes he took it out. It hurt more when he took it out. But he hugged her until his breathing slowed again.
âJesus, he said, running his hand through his hair while leaning on his elbow. Iâm sorry.
âWhy? Can we hug again, please?
He lay back down next to her, and she could feel his arm.
âIâm too, um, old for you, he said. Sorry, I like you. Really like you. But you donât want to know how old I am, and I donât want to know how young you are.
âIâm sixteen, she said.
âIâm twenty-six, he said.
They were able to hug some more then, and even kiss. And finish the wine, and have sex again.
EIGHT
Whitey lay on the floor where heâd woken, where he must have passed out the night before. His mind tracked backward, trying to sort through flashes of what had happened the previous day. Heâd gone to the bottleshop, and had been drinking cask wine alone. Either celebrating or drowning something. No. Heâd been drinking to absorb shock. Heâd never had an afternoon like that. That girl, Sonja. Fuck. Sonja. He looked at where theyâd had sex. It made him feel horny â not in the usual hangover-bustinâ-fora-quick-hot-orgasm-just-for-a-moment-of-pleasure/escape horniness â but a smooth, genuine endorphin-filled horniness. He looked at the ceiling and smiled.
Sheâs only sixteen.
And all that speed, all that alcohol turned in him.
He sat up and tested the cask. He filled the glass. And smelt Sonja.
He lay back down and pulled the doona off his mattress. It had her on it and he breathed it, and breathed it. Tears stung his eyes with their toxicity, but he had to masturbate, and for the first time in his memory he thought of only one woman.
Or girl.
NINE
The intravenous drip was full, which meant that the nurse had only just been. So if her father appeared to be asleep, Sonja knew he was feigning. She wanted her father to be awake; she wanted to talk to him.
âDad, she said, and touched his arm. Hi, Dad, how are you feeling today?
Zakhar rolled towards his daughter and gave her a small snarl. Sonja knew the snarl was not aimed at her. It was his self-disappointment. Heâd told her, when theyâd been alone during her last visit, that it finally didnât matter if he drank anymore or not. But he no longer felt like it. The surgeons had removed that part of his liver that made him thirst, heâd said. And the years heâd spent in Australia had been thoroughly wasted.
Sonja kissed her fatherâs forehead.
âMum just took Peter to the toilet, she said.
He nodded and pulled himself higher up the bed.
âDad, she continued. I donât even know how to say this. I want to have a boyfriend. Sonja had thought about it all night and all morning between snatches of sleep in which she could feelherself smiling. She had to tell someone about Patrick. But she didnât want to tell her mother, not just yet. In case her mother couldnât handle it.
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