Rafael Yglesias - The Work Is Innocent

The awkwardness of attempting to unbutton her top with one hand pressed between their bodies made Joan tense. He felt her sudden isolation and took it as an insult. He felt absurd: perched on her like a teddy bear, a Middle-Western loudmouth necking in the back seat of a convertible. Vividly embarrassing images rose like demons with mocking, distorted mouths. He pushed away from her as if bitten by a bee.

Her body was loose and relaxed, her clothes slightly crumpled, her eyes puffed and sleepy. She was there to be taken. That knowing mature person was warm and cozy, easily had. He answered her demure questioning look with the sophistication and sureness that she inspired. He leaned back on the couch, reached forward with one hand and gently stroked her hair. She smiled and closed her eyes. He took both hands now and carefully undid each button. He found every moment fantastic—incredible! It fell away with slow fluttering grace, and the awesome beauty of the fresh skin stunned him. There was a beauty mark on the rise of her left breast, and he found himself surrounding it with his mouth, his tongue touching it gingerly. The bra annoyed him almost beyond endurance, and he lifted her up to get it off. She sat up, however, and he released her, worried. But as she solemnly took off her top and reached back to unhook the bra, he felt the same giddiness in his legs, and even resting one hand on his own leg was arousing. Her bra came off abruptly, her breasts popping out like bull’s- eyes: it was obscene and ludicrous. Joan looked at him with shame, and since that was incomprehensible it added to Richard’s feeling of absurdity.

She timidly rested her head on his chest, and Richard knew he must have embarrassed her. He moved her away in order to kiss her lips, and that was the first genuine kiss of his life.

He lost himself in it, enjoyed its rhythm without itemizing his physical reactions, unsurprised by the feel of her warm breasts.

Joan was enjoying the embrace and she pulled up his shirt in the back, moving her hands rapturously over his skin. One hand went down and slithered inside his underpants and reached for a buttock. Richard was horrified at the image of her hands near his anus and he squirmed so as to prevent it happening without stopping the kiss. But she mistook it for pleasure and moved her hand more passionately, squeezed lightly, and allowed a fingertip to stray briefly within the crease of his ass.

He pushed away from her with a start when that happened. His erection had evaporated in a startling and disturbing manner. He wanted to rush away, but instinct had him smooth it over—he just looked at those tender nipples and baby-white skin and he was licking them with the abandon of a loving pet. He moved his hands up and down the sides of her body, lifted her arms and relished the sight: the sloping hollows of her underarms, her firm breasts, the nipples thick and hard like knobs.

He didn’t know what to do with it. He was eager to get his penis in. Not only because it ached to do so, but because that was fucking and he had to prove he could do it. He unsnapped her dungarees. The act was surprisingly dramatic: the snap popped loudly and the zipper wormed down halfway.

Joan gave him yet another scare by sitting up, her face sleepy, her lips puffed and red. “Let’s go into my bedroom,” she said.

He expected the opposite. He heard his croaking and silly voice say, “Okay.” She got up, zipped up her pants, grabbed her clothes, and tried to reach for the grass. Richard took it instead and followed her through the same hall that he had walked through in terror the night of the party. He found the business-like quality of the experience almost ridiculous. It was hard not to laugh.

They reached her room and she went in without turning on the light. She dropped her clothes on the floor and, with her back to him, took off her pants. He felt his excitement and erection with a jolt. His stomach churned with a spasm and, scared that his erection would disappear or that she would be in bed watching him undress, he hurriedly pulled off his sweat shirt, nearly falling down as he tried to unsnap his pants while kicking off his shoes. He saw her, naked, move quickly toward the bed, pull back the sheets, and get in.

He had to undress in front of her and he nearly decided to quit, but instead awkwardly took off his pants. It seemed to him his penis couldn’t be erect, but it hung away from him when uncovered, swollen and forlorn. Richard had his back to her, embarrassed to turn and get into the bed with it standing at attention and equally humiliated by having his ass in view. He used his hand to pin it modestly against his belly and moved rapidly to the bed, putting his ice-cold feet under the sheets.

“You’re freezing,” Joan said.

Richard, the blankets up to his chin, lay on his back, his arms tense, his chilling fingertips touching his thighs. He felt the sheet on his hard penis and looked out toward the door with the soft light of the hallway spilling in. He could see himself, a boy of eight, reading on the doorsill, running back to his bed and closing his eyes at the slightest sound.

He had burned that room down.

Why? The reason was mysterious and foreboding like his present fear. The air hung over him with loathing and ridicule. He shifted to face her and then leaned over to kiss her. There was a constriction in his chest, the kind of suffocation that doing homework produced. All he felt was the pressure on his penis against the bed. Joan just lay there, one limp hand on his back. He almost felt his soul rise up from deep within him; his parched lips roughly going over hers, the whole act without enthusiasm; his heart filling with despair.

It was over. He moved away from her and lay down on his back. He couldn’t do it. He felt tears welling in his eyes, just like that December morning when an older boy stole his first baseman’s glove.

Suddenly he felt her touch his penis. He never had a chance to absorb the sensation, because he found himself clumsily opening her legs—they seemed to resist slightly—and putting his between them. It was like getting on a bike for the first time. He got his left in smoothly but the right one bumped against her and flopped in with an embarrassing jolt. And then there he was, his face in her breasts, his penis lying on the bed as if bowing to the altar of her cunt. He knew she didn’t like this: she was tense, but he had no idea what else there was to do. Just get it in and the agony will be over.

He mechanically kissed her nipples, biting them lightly. She relaxed and enjoyed that, but to Richard it was no answer. How do I get in? He had the distinct feeling his erection was gone so he pushed forward toward that opening. He found his erection, it almost hurt on rebounding away from her, but he found no opening.

Joan’s body tightened up and he was afraid she had decided not to fuck him. He had to hurry. He pushed forward—nothing, not even a hint of that moist warm place he expected. It felt as if his penis had bent backward on hitting her, so he let it rest on the inside of her thigh and hoped to discover if it was erect. It seemed to be, but, scared that it wasn’t enough of a test, he grabbed it with his hand. It was elongated but not completely hard. He squeezed it several times, fascinated that it gave under pressure. He was sure that his pressure was making it more limp and he stopped. Joan was hardly breathing. She must hate me, he thought.

He put his hands on the bed and pushed off of it, scurried to his clothes, and violently pushed his legs into his pants. The swishing was loud and embarrassing.

While reaching for his sweat shirt, he heard the covers rustle. Joan switched the lamp on and Richard turned to face her. She had the blankets up to her chest. “Are you all right?” she asked, apparently without irony.