Nude Men

new?”
    “Nothing is new.”
    “That’s too bad. So what did you want to chat about?”
    I hear her slam the Bible down on the night table. Now that I am blindfolded, I remember the body that I saw, and I look at it in my mind. I cannot take my eyes off it. It is the most flawless and beautiful body I have ever seen.
    Sara laughs and sits on my lap. She’s quite heavy for a supposed little girl.
    “I got you now,” she says.
    “Oh, don’t do this,” I whine.
    “You can’t see me, so what does it matter? I could be wearing a space suit as far as you’re concerned.”
    She strokes my hair, plays with the end of my sock.
    “What do you think I should do to help me fall asleep?” she asks.
    “Imagine you are slowly falling down a dark hole, like Alice in Wonderland.”
    She kisses me on the mouth, for the first time. My lips are tightly shut. I am not breathing.
    “Relax,” she says. “Imagine you are falling down a dark hole, like Alice in Wonderland.”
    “You should do this with someone your own age,” I say.
    She slides her hands under my sweater and caresses my bare skin. I am paralyzed. I am excited by her, and that is why I am paralyzed. I can’t help having these thoughts: Well, she really wants to do it. It’s not as though she didn’t try. She sure tried hard, for weeks, she did everything in her power for this to happen. She would be terribly hurt if I rejected her now. It might even scar her for life.
    And I become red with shame at the thought of what society would think if it heard my thoughts. But the thoughts come back; I can’t keep them away: Why shouldn’t she have sex at eleven? She certainly seems ready.
    And as though agreeing with my thoughts, Sara says, “I got my first orgasm six months ago, just a few weeks after I got my first period. Isn’t that interesting. I’m ready.”
    My thoughts continue: What openness. What brass. Who knows, she might be advanced like those girls in Africa. They do it when they’re like five, I heard. Apart from that, I can tell that she’s dying to do it. This isn’t just innocent platonic childish affection. It’s excitement and lust. That’s undeniable. I don’t know what to do.
    I take my Bic pen out of my pocket and rest my front tooth on the tip of its cap, even though I swore I would never do it again.
    She puts her hand on my crotch, over my pants, and this causes sudden, automatic, conditioned disapproval on my part. “You should do this with someone your own age,” I say, taking her hand away and putting my tooth back on the tip of my pen.
    My pen slips and stabs my palate. Blood gushes out. I don’t even bother to swallow it quickly. My mouth fills up.
    “Oh, you hurt yourself,” she says. “It’s my fault. I made you nervous, and now you’re bleeding. Do you forgive me?”
    I nod my head and feel a drop dribbling out of the corner of my mouth.
    She kisses me. She unbuttons my pants, unzips them. She gets up and lowers my trousers and underwear as far as she can. I am erect.
    “Oh, so that’s what a thingy looks like,” she says.
    I wish I could give her a look of disapproval, but since my eyes are covered I need to do all the expressing with my mouth, so I sort of scrunch up my lips in reproach.
    “I’m only kidding,” she says, “Remember, I live with nude men. I know what these things look like.”
    She tries to pull my pants from under me with all her strength, but doesn’t succeed.
    “Do you think you could bounce a bit?” she asks.
    I stay paralyzed. I do not allow myself to “bounce,” even though I would like to. She tugs one side of my trousers, then the other. I know that she’s not making any progress, because I can feel my pants bunched under me, blocked by the weight of my bottom. But I do not help her. It would be a crime; I would be participating.
    She suddenly stops pulling and laughs. “You look so funny.”
    I can imagine that I do look funny. For a second, I experience a surge of inward laughter. I expect it to seep out, at least in an irrepressible smile, but a mixture of panic and desire quenches the smile before it is born, like a stifled sneeze. Not the slightest muscle or wrinkle twitches on my face. I have never been as sexually excited in my entire, goddamned life. I am taking this whole thing much more seriously than she is.
    I hear paper tearing. It sounds like a candy wrapper. I feel her hands. She is putting a condom on me. That I did not expect. Under my sock, my eyes are