But as they changed places and positions before his eyes, and almost without pause commenced a new series of intricate exertions (this time with the man mounted atop his aunt like some awful dog, while the girls played lesser roles), so Boris had begun to understand. No one was neglected here; each became the aggressor in turn, so that all received maximum satisfaction. Or, in Boris’s fevered eyes, so that all seemed equally disgusting.
In any event, while he believed that he now understood something of what he was seeing, still he did not quite believe that he was actually seeing it. It was the central character – the man, the awful spurting machine – which he couldn’t fathom.
Boris knew how exhausted he always felt after masturbating, so how must this hairy animal in the room of mirrors feel? He seemed to be hosing out semen almost continually, and groaning with the intensity of the pleasure given him by each fresh burst; except that it hardly seemed to weary him at all but only served to drive him to greater excess. Surely he must collapse at any moment now!
And as Boris had finally got his legs going and backed away from the door – and as if his aunt had been thinking almost precisely the same thing as Boris himself – he heard her gaspingly say: ‘Now, now, you two! Let’s not weary Dmitri so quickly. Why don’t you go and play with Boris, eh? But not too fiercely or else you might frighten him. Poor lamb, he looks the sort who’d frighten very easily. About as lusty as a lettuce!’
That had been enough to send Boris scrambling frantically upstairs to his room, out of his clothes in a flash and into bed. There he lay and cringed – knowing his door was unlocked, that it couldn’t be locked – waiting for … something he daren’t even essay a guess at. If he had been alone with one cousin, one normal girl, then perhaps things might have been different. Perhaps then there might have been a shy, gradual, fumbling introduction to sex – to normal sex – with Boris himself taking the stumbling initiative.
For until now Boris’s dreams and fancies in this respect had been fairly ordinary. He had even entertained fantasies of being alone with his aunt – of smothering himself in her soft breasts, her white body – and had not found them especially abhorrent or shameful. Not before.
But now he had seen! Any innocence his fantasies might have contained was gone now, wrenched out of him. What could there possibly be of normal, healthy sex now? Was there any such thing? He had seen, yes.
Downstairs in this very house he had seen three women (he could no longer think of his cousins as girls) coupling with a seemingly inexhaustible beast. He had seen the beast’s great pole of lusting flesh. And should he compare himself with that? Did he as a male even exist after that? A twig against a branch? And must he be a party to orgies, such as that – like one small hare amongst a pack of hounds? The mere thought of contact with the beast was sickening!
These had been his thoughts as his cousins came looking for him where he lay wrapped in sheets and blankets, absolutely still and breathless in his bed. He had heard them enter, had tried not to twitch when Anna had giggled throatily and asked: ‘ Boris, are you awake?’
‘Is he? Is he?’ Katrina had eagerly wanted to know.
‘No, I don’t think so.’ (Disappointed.)
‘But. . . his light is on!’
‘Boris?’ (Anna’s weight pressing down on his bed beside him.)’Are you sure you’re asleep?’
Feigning sleep, his heart hammering, Boris had turned a little where he lay, grumbled, said: ‘Wha-? What? Go away. I’m tired.’
It was a mistake. Both of them giggled now, their voices still coarse and full of lust. ‘Boris, won’t you play a game with us?’ said Katrina. ‘Stick your head out, at least. We’ve something . . .’ (more giggles) ‘. . . something to show you!’
He couldn’t breathe. He’d tugged his bedclothes so close and tight that he’d shut out the air. He would have to come out in a moment, whether he wanted to or not. ‘Please go away and let me sleep.’