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“Completely,” he responds. “I know you’re not hiding anything.”
I nod, but the truth is, I’m hiding a lot of things. I’m overwhelmed with guilt. Not about anything to do with sex, but I’m hiding things, including a dog in his house, my motocross riding with Jurgen, and his mother and Marta’s skydiving classes.
Eric looks at me. I smile and, finally, sigh and whisper, “Look at what you’ve done to my neck!”
Eric laughs and squeezes me in his arms.
“I think I’m going to have an archive room built in my office for when you come visit.”
I laugh, kiss him, and, forgetting my guilt and my jealousy, whisper, “That’s an excellent idea, Mr. Zimmerman.”
22
On weekends, I manage to peel the little grump and Mr. Moody off the couch. Otherwise, they’d spend the entire day glued to the Wii and the TV. Those two! We go to the movies, the theater, to have a burger, and I see that they have a good time. Why is it so hard for them to leave the house? Every now and again, Eric surprises me, inviting me out to eat at a restaurant. Afterward, he’ll take me to an impressive club, and we’ll have fun drinking, kissing, and talking.
He hasn’t said anything more about our sexual supplement. When we make love at home, we whisper hot fantasies to each other that get our motor running, but, for the moment, we haven’t had sex with anybody else. Does he want me for himself that much?
One Sunday, I manage to get them to go out for a stroll. We park the car and walk to the English Garden, this marvelous place in central Munich. Flyn doesn’t talk to me, but I participate in the conversation nonetheless. This clearly irritates him, but, in the end, he has no choice but to accept it.
In the afternoon, I make them go to the Bayern soccer field in Munich. The idea horrifies them. They’re more into basketball. The place is enormous, grand, and, I explain, this is the team that has won the most in the Bundesliga. They listen to me, nod, but they don’t care. I smile when I see their bored faces, and, at around seven thirty, they suggest going out for dinner.
They take me to a local restaurant, and I try different kinds of beer. Pilsen is blond, Weissbier is white, and Rauchbier is smoky. Eric waits for my reaction after I taste them.
“But none is as good as Mahou Five Stars!”
They laugh.
The fundamental ingredient in German dishes is flour. They use it in absolutely everything. That’s what Eric tells me as I polish off a Weissburst, a white sausage. It’s made from finely chopped veal, spices, and lard. It’s to die for! Happy because of the attention his uncle and I are paying him, Flyn bites into a figure-eight-shaped salty donut called a Brenz. He and I have set our differences aside, and Eric is enjoying our time together. For a while, they bring us many different dishes to try. Germans have a light supper, but I’m hungry, and I ask for finely sliced radishes lightly sprinkled with salt. They tell me it’s called Radi. After that, they bring us Obatzda, a cheese made with Camembert, butter, onions, and sweet smoked paprika. For dessert, I go crazy with the Germknödel, a dumpling filled with plum jelly and made from sugar, yeast, flour, and hot milk, then topped with confectioner’s sugar and poppy seeds and served with melted butter or vanilla custard sauce, so ... very light.
When we return home later that night, we’re beat. We’ve walked a lot, and Flyn drops into bed. Lying on the sofa in the living room while watching a movie, I propose we go for a swim in the pool. Eric has his eyes closed and declines.
“Something wrong, honey?”
“No,” he quickly replies.
“Does your head hurt?” I ask, worried.
Suddenly, amused, he grabs me like a sack of potatoes and carries me to the pool. We turn on only the pool light, and, when he least expects it, I push him in, and he splashes in the water. When his head emerges, he just looks at me.
I raise my eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’re going to get mad?” I ask, laughing.
My laughter makes him laugh, and more so when, still dressed, I jump into the water beside him. Eric grabs me and tickles me.
“Sweetheart, you’re a very naughty girl.”
For a while, we play at drowning each other and slowly take off our clothes until we’re naked. We kiss. We tempt each other, and, finally, we make love.
I’ve never done it in a pool before, but it’s exciting. Eric is whispering in my ear things he knows make me hotter still.
After recovering, I suggest we lap-race in the pool, but Eric says he just wants to kiss me and enjoy me. Twenty minutes later, we get out of the water. I grab a couple of towels and go back to his side. Once dressed, we lie in a nice brown hammock.
When we move, it feels like we’re floating. Kisses, caresses, and suddenly I’m on top and devouring his penis. Lying on his back, he seems to enjoy my attention while I play with him and give him roguish and fiery kisses.
I love his penis. I love the feeling of it in my mouth. I love its softness, and I adore how Eric touches my hair and encourages me to suck it. But he can be impatient. He’s never satiated.
He gets up and plants his feet on the floor on either side of the hammock. Turning me over, he murmurs in my ear as he penetrates me, “This is for pushing me into the pool.”
“I’m going to push you again,” I whisper as I receive him.