Read Online We So Seldom Look on Love by Barbara Gowdy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Gowdy
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drinking champagne to celebrate the future her. When she repeated “There is no Sue,” he kissed the tips of each of her fingers, then presented her with the diamond-and-gold watch. Afterwards, crossing the parking lot, he stopped and pressed her against a wall, pressing his hips against her little legs, and kissed her on the mouth.
On the drive home Sylvie’s little legs started to twitch, but after a minute they settled into slow, rhythmic kicks under her skirt. It made her feel languid to hold her little knees. She and John didn’t speak, except once she said, “Oh, look!” at the ovations of fireflies glittering along her side of the road. She thought of the fireflies she had caught and preserved in herfirst scrapbook—a page of them. Until her mother said, “They have to be alive, stupid,” she had turned to that page every night, wondering where the lights were.
John was nervous. He held her hand too tightly as they walked from the car to the door of his house. Sylvie
wasn’t
nervous, she didn’t know why. She tried to startle herself by thinking, “In a few minutes I will be in his bedroom,” but once they were inside the house John didn’t take her upstairs, he took her into his office. He threw the cushions off the sofa and pulled it out into a bed. Then he turned to her and began to kiss her on the mouth while undoing her blouse. His hands shook, reminding her of when he gave the tea and also that he was no surgeon. Since there were a lot of buttons (she was wearing a high-necked Victorian blouse), she started undoing some herself. She wanted him to know that she was willing. He started clawing at his own clothes as if they were on fire.
As soon as he was naked he resumed helping her, pulling her stockings over her ankles, yanking down her skirt before it was undone. Popping a button. They still didn’t speak. He was out of breath. He drew the combs from her hair and let them drop on the floor.
And then he stopped. On his knees in front of her, his hands on her knees, he stopped.
Sylvie closed her eyes. “Do you call ten dollars a bargain?” her mother shouted. “Sure,” her father shrugged, backing away, “bargain.” “Ten dollars?” her mother shouted. “Ten dollars?”
“God.” That was outside her head, that was John. He yanked down Sue’s underpants, pulling off her stockings and shoes at the same time.
A great tremor went through her little legs, which then began to clasp his thighs and kick out, clasp and kick out. The moment of pain was nothing compared to the spectacular relief. Sylvie felt as if her little vagina were a yards-long suckingtube, and he was heading right out the back and into her own vagina. She felt a second sharp pain at what she imagined was the point of entry into her own vagina, and after that she felt him as a lightning rod conducting heat and pleasure from Sue to herself.
When he began to ejaculate, he dug his hands under her hips and lifted her, crushing her little groin into his and bringing on her first orgasm. The waves of the orgasm rolled up his lightning-rod penis into her own vagina and along to her own clitoris, where she had another, more luxurious orgasm.
For a few seconds longer, her little legs went on kicking. He seemed to wait them out. Then he withdrew and rolled onto his back. She ran her hand up and down the goosebumps on her little thigh.
“God,” he said. “Oh, Sylvie, God.” He sounded stricken.
Her hand stopped moving. “What?” she said.
“We got carried away,” he said.
“Yes,” she said uncertainly.
“I had no idea,” he said.
She waited, frightened.
“Of course,” he said, as if hitting upon some comfort, “this presents a whole new angle.”
Doors slammed in her mind. He didn’t want to marry her. He couldn’t let her have the operation, not now, and unless she had the operation, he wouldn’t marry her.
“New territory,” he said. “New data.”
Her feet were cold, sunk in mud at the edge of
On the drive home Sylvie’s little legs started to twitch, but after a minute they settled into slow, rhythmic kicks under her skirt. It made her feel languid to hold her little knees. She and John didn’t speak, except once she said, “Oh, look!” at the ovations of fireflies glittering along her side of the road. She thought of the fireflies she had caught and preserved in herfirst scrapbook—a page of them. Until her mother said, “They have to be alive, stupid,” she had turned to that page every night, wondering where the lights were.
John was nervous. He held her hand too tightly as they walked from the car to the door of his house. Sylvie
wasn’t
nervous, she didn’t know why. She tried to startle herself by thinking, “In a few minutes I will be in his bedroom,” but once they were inside the house John didn’t take her upstairs, he took her into his office. He threw the cushions off the sofa and pulled it out into a bed. Then he turned to her and began to kiss her on the mouth while undoing her blouse. His hands shook, reminding her of when he gave the tea and also that he was no surgeon. Since there were a lot of buttons (she was wearing a high-necked Victorian blouse), she started undoing some herself. She wanted him to know that she was willing. He started clawing at his own clothes as if they were on fire.
As soon as he was naked he resumed helping her, pulling her stockings over her ankles, yanking down her skirt before it was undone. Popping a button. They still didn’t speak. He was out of breath. He drew the combs from her hair and let them drop on the floor.
And then he stopped. On his knees in front of her, his hands on her knees, he stopped.
Sylvie closed her eyes. “Do you call ten dollars a bargain?” her mother shouted. “Sure,” her father shrugged, backing away, “bargain.” “Ten dollars?” her mother shouted. “Ten dollars?”
“God.” That was outside her head, that was John. He yanked down Sue’s underpants, pulling off her stockings and shoes at the same time.
A great tremor went through her little legs, which then began to clasp his thighs and kick out, clasp and kick out. The moment of pain was nothing compared to the spectacular relief. Sylvie felt as if her little vagina were a yards-long suckingtube, and he was heading right out the back and into her own vagina. She felt a second sharp pain at what she imagined was the point of entry into her own vagina, and after that she felt him as a lightning rod conducting heat and pleasure from Sue to herself.
When he began to ejaculate, he dug his hands under her hips and lifted her, crushing her little groin into his and bringing on her first orgasm. The waves of the orgasm rolled up his lightning-rod penis into her own vagina and along to her own clitoris, where she had another, more luxurious orgasm.
For a few seconds longer, her little legs went on kicking. He seemed to wait them out. Then he withdrew and rolled onto his back. She ran her hand up and down the goosebumps on her little thigh.
“God,” he said. “Oh, Sylvie, God.” He sounded stricken.
Her hand stopped moving. “What?” she said.
“We got carried away,” he said.
“Yes,” she said uncertainly.
“I had no idea,” he said.
She waited, frightened.
“Of course,” he said, as if hitting upon some comfort, “this presents a whole new angle.”
Doors slammed in her mind. He didn’t want to marry her. He couldn’t let her have the operation, not now, and unless she had the operation, he wouldn’t marry her.
“New territory,” he said. “New data.”
Her feet were cold, sunk in mud at the edge of
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