The heat, the smoothness, the delicately nuanced aroma of the strange hollow opened another entrance before them.
As the woman kept on trembling and did nothing but tremble, all of her being, everything, trembling with her, evenly and unstoppably.
The man understood the trembling to mean that he could never satisfy this woman; perhaps it was impossible. Parallel to this realization, there appeared to him André Rott’s thin body with its hard long slabs of muscle and sinew, with the dark fountains of hair on his belly and chest. Because Ágost was convinced that with André no woman could ever wind up in such an embarrassing situation. André was the only man Ágost considered better than himself, and therefore wanted to make love to him or at least to find a woman as good as he. No matter how carefully and tenderly he tried to absorb the woman’s frightful trembling with his lips on hers, they could not gain new entrance. Or maybe for once he’ d like to be a woman so he could try out a man like his friend.
They collided painfully; the edges of their teeth clicked comically.
Which would mean that they were trying in vain. They’ll never get to the end of anything.
Maybe if I licked it for her.
André would have done it a long time ago, for sure.
Not in this order either; he would have started with that.
That’s how I’ll do it, I’ll work on her clit. I’d have gotten further if I hadn’t always tried to stick my rotten prick in. André is better because he doesn’t need women at all. He doesn’t need anybody, and every woman is hooked by his indifference.
He doesn’t need to pay attention to himself, André needs no self-discipline, he has no reason to gratify himself.
He held the woman while considering whether he needed the whole circus that would come about with a new relationship, with the proximity of a complete stranger like this.
But no, he could not let the trembling in, just as his musculature would not allow him out anymore. As if he were experiencing the other person’s pains only with his soul.
What does anymore mean.
Never, he thought suddenly.
Women, however voracious or hungry they may be, can sometimes be satisfied. I am one of these satisfying machines, but nobody has ever satisfied me. No reason not to confess that the only time I get a little bit of it is when I make these stupid women scream. That’s the truth. I am sitting in my own jail and I can count, at most, on the fingers of one hand. He found this thought very amusing, but it made him feel even sorrier for himself. As if he realized that not the other person but he was the greatest obstacle to his own existence. He was deeply moved by the thought that he was at the mercy of his own body and, as if this had given him a new idea, perhaps he should share this woman with André.
I’d get my satisfaction while he would take care of her.
Gyöngyvér thrust him away with her tongue, as if she understood every one of his insidious thoughts; she shoved him out while at the same time clinging hard to him.
Something important, I want to tell you something important, she whispered between the man’s lips, articulating clearly in synchrony with her trembles, while their lips and tongues touched again, went on the defense, tried to calm the other, and slurped about.
At times like this, one depends on one’s pores and nerve endings to help understand the other person. And the voice of the other person reaches one more slowly than usual.
It was occurring to him that he was only playing a role, only pretending to be impersonal while André really was impersonal. Soaping each other in the shower, he felt through his fingers no emotions emanating from that hard, stringy male body.
The uric acid poisoned me, Gyöngyvér whispered, I’m sure that’s why I’m shaking, you understand, because the uric acid simply poisoned me.
Where do you get such asinine, idiotic ideas.
I should pee too, you know, take a leak, she added and laughed. Don’t get scared, I’m letting it out now.
Her laughter was ugly, though she retained a warm timbre in her voice.
No, don’t, you’ve gone mad, the man shouted, alarmed.
He shouted as if he were unable to decide whether to give voice to admiration or to dread.
But, but, the woman replied in her deepest register, why shouldn’t I, and the voice she used now needed no support at all.
Don’t, the man protested, but he hadn’t finished saying the one word before he felt it on his thigh, spreading and warming his skin.
You do it too, do it for me. She moaned with pleasure, I’m letting mine out already.
They heard its strong trickle and flow, now hitting the hard floor, now piddling on the wrinkled bedcover tucked under them. With her spread loins on his thighs, she kept trembling and trembling. The man felt somewhat relieved; if it were this easy for him, he too would have let it out, but it was not that simple: nothing was coming.
The bladder would have allowed this but the urine was stopped up because of the enduring mild erection in the urethra.
Gyöngyvér reached in and got hold of his member.
That’s how you do it for the little boys, eh, Ágost asked.
Indeed, Gyöngyvér saw a strange boy whom she did not know, and Ágost saw his dead sister.
When I want them to make peepee, Gyöngyvér replied, exactly like this, you’re right. Boys have to be taught.
Every day.
No. Several times a day.
You take out their little weenies and give them instructions.
I help them.
With your nails you seduce them, ruin them for life.
Their open, hot lips touched.
Her lips were of the same temperature as her amply dribbling urine.
You’re jealous of them, I can hear it in your voice.
On the contrary, I’m happy to share you with them. You don’t yet know this side of me. I’d be happy to share you, he thought. I swear I’ll do it, he said out loud. As he thought to himself, the three of us might be able to satisfy you.
Above their kiss, they did not let go of each other’s eyes.
While they do it, I whisper to them, she whispered later into the man’s ear, when the dribbling continued intermittently, growing now weaker, now stronger; psh, psh, psh, my little one, that’s what I whisper to the little boys.
Again, their lips had to make contact, this time more strongly and for a little longer.
And what do you whisper into the ears of little girls, Ágost asked, excited by the sound of the dribbling urine.
Just a few words.
But what, how, what exactly.
Well, that right now we’re tinkling, little one, tinkle, tinkle, that’s what I say, that’s all. That’s enough for little girls.
I’m jealous of them, said the man and moaned deeply.
There you are, shouted the woman.
The urine spouted up as if from a fountain.
And since with their foreheads touching they were gazing, bewitched, at what might be happening down below, it almost reached their faces.
Instinctively they yanked their heads away.
The yellow stream fell back into itself, flooded the penis’s bare bulb, as if an invisible hand had turned off a faucet.
When in a short while it gushed forth again, bursting through the widened urethra, it reached the woman’s chin. She thrust her torso toward it; she wanted to feel it on her breasts. And she opened her mouth wide to swallow it, but this wish was frustrated. Let it soil the area between her breasts; she wanted to enjoy the warmth of the soiling, as if encountering something very precious.
Whimpering, she turned him over her.
Now it was coming in a big thick stream, steadily, and now it wouldn’t stop.