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“Why?” I ask. I want to keep playing.
But Eric looks to be in a bit of a hurry.
“C’mon, your underwear’s on the nightstand,” he says.
I want to complain, but I decide against it. I get my underwear and my pj’s. But I don’t want to get dressed. I feel like we were just getting started!
When he sees the look on my face, Eric kisses me as he picks up the anal ring and the lubricant and puts them away. He gets up, and, just as he’s taking me in his arms, the door of the bedroom flies open. Standing there in his striped pajamas is a sleepy Flyn, his mouth agape. I quickly cover myself with my clothes.
“Don’t you know how to knock?” I snarl.
For the first time ever, the boy doesn’t know what to say.
“Flyn, we’ll be right back,” says Eric.
We rush to the bathroom. I look at him, waiting for an explanation for this sudden apparition.
“He’s been scared of thunder since he was little, but don’t tell him I told you.” He kisses me. “I knew he was going to come in as soon as I heard the thunder. He always does.”
Now I’m the one who kisses him. God, I love how he tastes! I slowly pull away from his mouth.
“Does he always come to your bed?”
“Always,” he affirms.
I love his face. My German is so beautiful!
More thunder makes us come back down to reality. He quickly washes and dries himself, puts on his underwear, and starts to go.
“Don’t be long, sweetheart,” he says. I wash myself, put on my pj’s, look in the mirror, and can’t help but smile as I try to comb out my tangled hair. I wonder what’s happening to Susto. Poor thing—it’s storming so bad outside, and he’s out on the street.
I remember that when I was a kid, I had the same reaction as Flyn. I was scared of thunder; I was scared of those hellish noises that made me think about ugly demons with long nails circling the skies to kidnap kids. I spent a lot of nights sleeping in my parents’ bed until my mother, patiently and with a little extra help, finally managed to get me over the fear.
When I come out of the bathroom, I find Eric on the bed, chatting with Flyn. When he sees me, the boy follows me with his gaze. I get into bed with them.
“Does she have to sleep with us?” the grumpy little boy asks his uncle.
Eric nods.
“Oh yes! I’m terrified of storms and especially of thunder. I’m curious: Do you like dogs?”
“No,” they answer in unison.
“They’re dirty; they bite; they smell bad; and they have fleas,” says Flyn.
I’m taken aback. “You’re wrong, Flyn. Dogs don’t always bite, and, of course, they don’t always smell bad or have fleas if they’re well cared for.”
“We’ve never had animals in this house,” says Eric.
“Well, that’s too bad,” I whisper. “Having animals in the house gives you another perspective on life, especially if you’re a kid. Honestly, I think it would do you two a world of good if you had a pet.”
“No way,” says Eric.
“Leo’s dog bit me, and it hurt,” says the boy.
“You were bitten by a dog?”
The boy nods, lifts the sleeve of his pj’s, and shows me a mark on his arm. I file that and try to imagine the fear of animals he must have. I have to help him overcome it.