Pilar Quintana With the woman he could barely get an erection that would allow him to penetrate her. That's when true martyrdom would begin because he could never get aroused enough to come. Hours and hours of battering that body of abundant and loose flesh howling beneath him. If the darkness was absolute and he touched her as little as possible he could imagine that the woman was the girl. Then he would come right away. The girl gave him proper erections. All it took was seeing her get out of the shower wrapped in her little white towel or strolling through the living room in her pajamas with the short pants and tank top. He had lived with them since the girl was seven years old. Now she was thirteen and she called him Dad. Her breasts were starting to sprout. But she hadn't had her period yet. If she had, the woman would have told him about it. Besides, the only sanitary napkins that appeared in the bathroom wastebasket were the ones that the woman threw away when she had her period. He was dying to know whether she had pubic hair; her armpits were clean.
Prairie Schooner – University of Nebraska Press
Published: Jul 21, 2013