“You will have to distract
me,” he said, playing at being a sullen child, teasing her a little, trying to cover his melancholy mood. She said nothing, but took his hand and brought it down onto the soft satin of her inner thigh. No, he thought at first; not now. I have nothing
to offer at this moment. But his body spoke differently. Arousal, sharp and sudden, against his will, pushed aside his gloom and reticence. His “old man” jerked, stiffening slightly, taking his breath. He looked down and watched it move: a life
of its own. It jerked again, straightening itself, until it was pinned, hard and painful, pulling against the fabric of his trousers, his heart beginning to pound in his throat. A heavy, unpleasant burning spread from his groin through his chest. He wondered:
have I no will of my own? He wanted her. No, he wanted it. The act, separate from himself, separate from her. For one brief moment he tried to resist.