“But I just did.”
“What?”
“I just touched you. You saw.”
“What?”
“Like I did before. Like all those times before.”
“But I didn’t feel anything.”
“See how unimportant it is.”
“Does she know?”
“No. Nothing’s happened; so no. See.” And Susan holds up her unfettered palms so Mr. Pyne can see them. “And see? This is now the second time today,” she says as she lays her hands gently on his cool chest.
Mr Pyne holds his breath.
“So now we can get to work.” And so with efficient speed and while chatting about nothing, Susan unbuttons the shorts and takes them off, “Now this leg, now this leg,” and she removes his long white socks, “Now this leg, now this leg,” with Mr. Pyne’s total co-operation. He seems to be amazed that the roof has not caved in and that the walls are still standing. He stands there in his white baggy briefs. Susan hasn’t gone past this stage before but without hesitation she thumbs his briefs on each of his hips and whips them down, “This leg, now this leg,” and Mr. Pyne stands there naked; and Susan says “Oh the traffic today! You’re really very lucky to work from home, Mr. Pyne. I sometimes wish I could do that as I said to my gardener, Neville, just the other day how nice it would be to work from home; and now Mr. Pyne I’ve got some wonderful new clothes for you. Look at these,” and she holds up a pair of stylish white and blue Aussie Bum briefs. “So let’s see how they fit. This leg now this leg,” and she hoists them up. “Now look, Mr. Pyne, look here. These have a little pouch and the salesman told me that they are very comfortable, see? So let’s just put your testicles in here,” and she gently lifts his balls and slips the edge of the pouch under them, “Now how does that feel, OK? Now do you dress to the left or the right?” she says with his penis in her hand, “Like this?” as she tries the right.
“No.”
“Oh, so to the left then,” and she replaces it, “or do you want it down,” and she replaces it again.
“I can’t believe nothing’s happening.”
“Is that OK?”
“No.”
“Then back to the left then. OK?”
“Ah oh! Something’s happening!” and he looks down at his penis in Susan’s hand as they both can see it growing slowly and gaining momentum and weight; she can feel it, like something waking up. Mr. Pyne’s eyes grow in direct proportion to his penis; Susan looks up at him looking down and she looks just as amazed as he is at what is happening, and when his eyes are as big as big can be his pelvis starts rocking. This is virgin territory for Susan but she goes along with it, increasing her grip, his lack of violence or revulsion she takes as encouragement. Mr. Pyne seems unaware of what his body is doing and why it is doing this; it’s as if he has never seen it do this before.
She places one hand on his buttocks to give her leverage and holds his penis firmly as his body moves it in and out along her fist. His face and body begins to react as if something more is about to happen; something bigger but unknown, something he is sure is not far away. Susan mimics his look of astonishment and expectation; she wants him to believe that she is with him in this: she’s his corroborator here, his testifier in this astonishing event.
Susan knows, however, what is coming and has to do something. A mess on the rug will send him into apoplexy and may undo what this experience may finally achieve, but Mr. Pyne unknowingly comes to her aide. As he feels whatever-it-is-that-is-going-to-happen getting closer, his body tenses, his arms spread wide and his head slowly falls back as he faces heaven. Susan’s hands are full but she must get the discarded singlet lying on the sofa. She judges his rhythmic thrusts and as skilfully as a timpani player lets go of his buttocks, grabs the singlet from behind her and lets it fall at his feet, and grabs his arse again. Too close! If this is his first orgasm, which she believes it is, the singlet may be too close. She times her grab again and gets the singlet where she wants it to be.
By now his body is rigid with his hips thrusting widely, arms and eyes wide with some sweet agony he does not understand. He gasps! He shudders! Susan doesn’t release either hand but keeps an eye on him. He gasps again. Shudders again and she can feel his body relaxing. She thinks he is going to fall forward as his knees give way, but she manages to angle him as he gives out a piercing cry of wonder and release, and she lets him collapse backwards into an armchair. She grabs at the singlet, rolls it, and shoves it under the sofa. He lies there panting, staring at nothing. What must he be feeling? Susan wonders.
He slowly pulls his head forward and looks around the room, looking at everything just as it was before; the furniture, the glasses in the cabinet, the boomerangs on the walls, all the same. Susan sits on the sofa, hands in her lap gently smiling at him. He is incredulous, wide-eyed and says quietly as if he only has the energy for a whisper, ”And nothing happened. It seems impossible, but nothing happened.”
Susan chats away as if what has just happened is the most natural thing in the world. She helps him into his new clothes, a pair of cotton, cream-coloured trousers, with a dark blue polo shirt, and no singlet. He seems distracted, uneasy but calm.
Once she has packed her bag and neatly folded all his discarded clothes she says holding out her bag to him, “You can carry this to the car for me.” This little walk to the car has only been a recent addition to the routine but today now, he offers no hesitation, no reluctance. He takes the proffered bag and slowly follows her out of the flat, down the stairs, through the garden to her car on the street. Susan gazes up at the balcony and notices that he has left his front door ajar. They walk silently to the street. She opens the back door of her car, takes the bag from him, says “Thank you Mr. Pyne,” puts it on the back seat, closes the door and stands and looks at him smiling gently.
He gazes around the incredibly normal suburban street and then looks at her. He seems incredibly sad.
“Shall I expect a message from you, Mr. Pyne?”
“Yes, Susan,” he says, then “Ah!” He suddenly looks behind him as if he has just heard something fearful. A dove has just landed on the garden fence. It sits there coo-ing. “Is everything like this?” he asks, looking around and then back at her, “so, so ... unconcerned?”
“It’s just the same as before.”
“No, look again. Look all around you again.”
Susan does as she is asked and says, “No, just the same. Normal.”
“Normal?”
“Yes. Normal, common, same as before, the everyday.”
“Every day,” he repeats slowly; and then, “What do you think happened?”
“I brought you your new set of clothes for you to try, and you look very smart; very smart indeed.”
“Of course. Thank you Susan.” They shake hands. His is soft, warm, but before he lets go of hers he squeezes it gently. She watches him walk his short-step gait back through the overgrown garden until he disappears. She gets into her car and drives away.
Had she waited a little longer she would’ve realised that when he entered his flat he did not close his front door.
5
Just before she opened the front door to let Jack in she reminded herself not to comment on his appearance. Weeks went by between visits usually because his father was taking him somewhere exotic. Last month he'd chosen East Timor as research for his school project. All the other children relied on the Internet for their research. Jack’s father, Ray, actually took him to East Timor. She had always found it hard to compete with his father's newfound wealth.
It was true, but every time she saw him he had grown, altered, changed in some way; and now knowing