The Innocence That Practices novel · Chapter 1 of 12
Chapter 1: The Couch
"Uncle... it's so big."
Genesis said it with her face flushed, sitting next to me on the couch, her eyes fixed on the bulge in my pants.
"Are all men like that?"
She was twenty-one, an anatomy book open on her lap, and her left hand resting, trembling, on my thigh.
I was thirty-eight, a wife who slept in another city three nights a week, and my blood in a place it shouldn't have been.
It all started with a question about the male pelvis.
It was ten o'clock on a Tuesday, and Yajaira had left at five in the afternoon for Maracaibo, with her rolling suitcase and her kiss in the air.
Genesis was studying in the living room, barefoot, in cotton shorts and a white T-shirt with no bra.
I watched the game in silence, or pretended to.
"Uncle, can you help me with something?"
"Tell me."
"It's for the next class. The reproductive organs. It says here they vary in size."
She turned the book toward me.
A diagram with arrows and numbers.
"I don't understand the scale," she said. "Is it really that different?"
"That depends on the man."
"And what's normal?"
"Genesis."
"It's a study question."
I looked at her.
Her brown hair was loose over one shoulder, her honey-colored eyes wide, and that small mole below her lip that I'd tried not to look at for four months.
My wife had taken her into our house in August, when she started nursing school at the University of Carabobo.
Her mother, Yajaira's younger sister, had raised her in a town in the Andes with Sunday mass and a skirt down to her knee.
My sister-in-law had entrusted her to us with tears in her eyes.
"Take care of her, she doesn't know anything about the world."
I took care of her.
Until that night.
"I can't give you a number," I said.
"But you know."
"I know mine."
"So, is it normal or not?"
Before I could answer, her hand moved.
It went up slowly along my thigh, clumsy, as if it didn't know where to go.
She touched the fabric.
She stopped.
She felt it through the pants, with two fingers, with a curiosity so serious it cut off my breath.
"Genesis."
"Yeah?"
"Stop."
"Why?"
"Because I can't..."
"Can't what?"
Her palm closed around me, gently, measuring.
I let out a grunt I couldn't hold back.
"It's hard," she whispered, amazed.
"Of course it's hard."
"Because of me?"
"Genesis, for God's sake."
"Tell me if it's because of me."
Her voice came out very low.
There was no malice.
Just a clean, new hunger that disarmed me.
"Yes," I said.
The word slipped out without permission.
"It's because of you."
Her eyes lit up.
Her lips trembled.
"I thought... I thought it was my fault. When you look at me, and I..."
"And you what?"
"Something happens to me, Uncle."
"What happens?"
"I don't know how to say it."
She bit her lip, and I wanted to bite it with her.
She was my wife's niece, my sister-in-law's daughter.
She was a twenty-one-year-old woman who didn't have a drop of my blood and who was pressed against me, her hand on my cock.
I thought I should push her away.
I thought I should get up, lock myself in the bathroom, splash cold water on my face.
Instead, I did what I'd never done in eight years of marriage.
I provoked her.
"If you have so many questions," I said, my voice hoarse, "I'll teach you something else that's not in the book."
"What?"
"That men can also put it in you from behind."
I pressed, on purpose, my crotch against the softness of her palm.
It was a brutal line, the kind you say to scare someone.
So she'd get up, turn red, and call me a pervert.
So it would all end.
Genesis opened her mouth.
She froze for a second.
What I didn't expect, what I never would have imagined in a hundred years, was that with one hand she'd lift the hem of her shorts up to her waist.
And with the other, she'd pull at the fabric of my pants to pull out my already erect cock.
She took it with her fingers, hot, rigid.
"Oh my God," she whispered.
I closed my eyes.
"Genesis, no..."
"It's soft."
"Genesis."
"I didn't imagine it would be so soft."
She squeezed it, with both hands this time, curious, clumsy.
She moved it up and down, watching my face.
"Like this?"
"Slower."
"Like this?"
"Yes."
A moan escaped me.
She smiled, dazzled, her cheeks red.
"I like how that sounds," she said.
And then she did what disarmed me most.
She climbed onto the couch, on her knees, and straddled my thighs.
The hem of her shorts pulled up to her belly.
Underneath, just white cotton panties, damp.
"Genesis, you're a virgin."
"I know."
"Then don't..."
"I'm not asking for that. Not yet."
"What are you asking me?"
"I want to feel it."
She took my cock with one hand and pressed it against her belly, against the damp fabric, against her own hot skin.
She started to rub.
Slowly at first.
Her hips undulated, searching.
My tip slid, slippery, over the soaked fabric, brushing her pubic bone.
She closed her eyes.
She let out a sharp gasp.
"Uncle."
"Tell me."
"This... this is..."
"I know."
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"You're doing it right."
That was all I managed to say.
My hands went up on their own to her hips, and I guided her.
I pushed her forward, backward, in a slow rocking that pulled a moan from her.
Her tits, barely covered by the white t-shirt, swayed inches from my face.
Her nipples, hard, pressed against the fabric.
"More," she moaned. "Don't stop."
"I won't."
"Tell me I'm doing it right."
"You're doing it very right, Genesis."
"Again."
"You're doing it very right. You're perfect."
She opened her mouth in a stifled cry.
She rubbed faster, harder, pressing my cock against her belly with both hands.
I felt the fabric get soaked, felt the wetness run down my shaft.
I held on.
I held on with my teeth clenched.
Until she, with her forehead on my shoulder and a tremor that ran through her whole body, came.
She screamed my name.
"Edgar!"
For the first time, without the "uncle."
She clung to my shoulders, shaking against me, with her mouth open and her eyes closed.
I held her.
With my pants around my knees and my cock a fire between us.
When she finished, she stayed still, panting.
She lifted her face.
Her eyes were wet and she had a trembling smile.
"Was that it?" she whispered.
"That was it."
"I want to do it again."
I let out a hoarse laugh.
I was going to answer her.
I was going to tell her I was going to die, that this was crazy, that my wife was coming back on Thursday.
But at that moment I heard a sound that left me frozen.
A key.
Turning in the lock of the front door.
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