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A sin begets a son begets a sin

Desperate for a child, a woman spurns her ailing husband and secretly beds a younger, fitter man
'Klara? Where are you going, my love?'

'Out. Simply out. I need some air. This house is stifling.'

My husband shakes his head.

'It is getting late. I should walk with you.'

'No, my love!' I try hard not to sound too insistent. 'Finish your meal.' 

Alois nods then scrapes his spoon across his plate and shovels its captured contents beneath his untidy grizzled moustache. I know he will soon be sleeping soundly. A shrug and a waving spoon dismiss me. As usual, he talks with his mouth full.

'Well don't be long. You know how I worry!'

'No need. No need at all. I will be fine.'

Fine! I will never be fine. Three children lying cold in the earth. A husband lying cold in my bed. And I, desperate for another child, unable to bear the loss and emptiness.

The Austrian summer no longer warms me; it burns me, dries and hollows me out. I stride from our tumbledown house, escape the darkness and dread that now share our simple home. I never invited them in; they crept in, smothered my lovely boys, wasted my beautiful girl, and now wait in threatening silence for yet another baby to torment and dispatch. But not this time. Never again will I carry an imperfect, futile creature for months and then struggle to nurture it against all odds. My husband is old and frail; his seed feeble and deficient, yet I will have a child. Strong and healthy. Confident and noble. He will do great things, this child of mine. This beautiful, smiling, bouncing child of mine. I stride on through darkening streets, pass through the old town's walls and leave the frustration and hopelessness behind me. The dome of stars glimmers benignly, fills my aching heart with a new optimism. A bloody rising moon, crazed by the branches of a dying ancient elm, offers me meagre light and leads me down the winding overgrown path to Adon's door.

A tiny window glows. I knock. One, two, three... pause... four, five. The door opens. His dark eyes welcome me inside. We kiss peremptorily in the doorway then he takes me by the arm and closes the door behind me. I needed him to be decisive, to make the move that cuts us off from the world, that severs the ties to my painful past and shuts out my ambivalent and impotent husband. Within these walls, they cannot reach me, cannot touch me. This is my business; my doing. What happens in the next hour will change my world forever.

Unfamiliar aromas fill my nose and swirl inside my head. An empty plate sits on his otherwise bare wooden table. There is a rung-backed chair, a groaning, bursting bookcase and a bed - a simple wooden cot with its straw mattress and twisted sheets.

'A drink, Klara?'

'No, no thank you.'

He widens his eyes and tilts his head.

'Then what would you like?'

I am playfully pensive.

'Herr Goldstein, I am too reserved to say it, but I am certain you know already.'

He laughs, pulls me to him and kisses me with barely believable passion. I close my eyes, savour his soft, full lips, breathe in his masculine smell and surrender to his solid muscularity. Strong hands squeeze my buttocks, shape my hips, slide across my belly and test the fullness of my breasts. His rising manhood is already pressing into me; breath is quickening and his big heart is thumping. I will make love to this boy before I leave this place and covet his burgeoning progeny inside me. That thought, abhorrent in the extreme yet as essential to me as air itself, excites me beyond belief. I pray for the strength to see this through; pray to hold a child in my arms once more.

'Adon, please! The candle.'

I motion to the flickering flame and he nods, extinguishes it with a sizzling pinch of his wetted fingers. Despite the darkness, modesty turns my back to him. I begin to undress and can hear he is doing the same. The layers peel away, perspiration momentarily adhering them to my quivering skin. With firm resolve, I bare myself, run my fingers through the dark hair between my legs and feel the heat and arousal his youthful presence has elicited.

The bed is hard, the sheets crumpled; they smell of him. I press my face into his soft pillow while again testing the desperate plan in my head. At every stage, I have been meticulous. My lover is perfect: shameful doubt blurs my husband's parentage and Adon bears uncanny similarity to the young Alois, his dark skin, hair and eyes so incongruous in his formal family photograph. The timing is perfect: my body is primed and its cycle - synchronised with that of the rising moon - is waxing. The denouement is perfect: afterwards, I will go home, take to my bed for a couple of days complaining of illness and then, on the third day, seduce Alois, using all my wiles to make him hard enough to penetrate me. Once inside, I am certain he will quickly climax and thus complete the deception. Please, God, let it work. Please forgive me this sin and give me a healthy child.

The bed's creaks signal Adon's readiness. I have grown accustomed to the darkness, can see his bearded face, see too the dark hairs that cover his body. Despite his youth, he is already a man. I run my fingers across his chest. He whimpers, touches my cheek and kisses me like for all the world he loves me. I sink back, part my thighs and ready myself, but he pulls away, sits on the edge of the bed and drags curled fingers through his thick dark hair. He turns and speaks slowly, his voice a clipped whisper.

'Klara, is this really what you want?'

His hesitance kindles my worst fears, illuminates my plan's only flaw. Though only twenty-eight years old, my three lost children have taken a terrible toll on me, both mentally and physically. I have agonised over whether he would find my naked body attractive, for my flesh is no longer as tight and vibrant as the girls he undoubtedly beds. My reply, at least, is firm.

'Please, do not worry for my sake, for I am absolutely set on this course.' As a distraction from his sudden negativity, I inadvertently give voice to another factor that singled him out to be my lover. 'You are soon to leave? To continue your studies?'

He nods and I feel his passion, his determination. 

'Yes. In September.'

'Munich? Salzburg?'

'No. Vienna. And when my studies are complete, I shall be a doctor. I have great plans.'

The money I will leave by his bedside is not a fortune, but it will surely help him. He amazes me; inspires me. His background is humble, yet he has such ambition! I love his inner strength, his tenacity and his will to succeed, and know I would be happy if my boy were to inherit even half of it.

'Then I will be your first patient. Save my life, Adon, for without a child I will surely die of a broken heart. Make love to me.'

Tears fill my eyes. A shaft of moonlight suddenly pierces his window and in its soft silvery glow I can see that he too is crying.

'I don't think I can.'

My voice, like me, is broken.

'My greatest fear was that I would not excite you. I will go...'

'No!' He shouts it. I freeze. When the echoes have died, he whispers. 'That is not what I meant.'

Taking my hand, he steers it, places it on his naked knee and slides it up his thigh. Where his cock should be, there is nothing; nothing but a sagging, hairy sack containing his twin testicles. I am momentarily confused. Under his guidance, my fingers explore further, higher, and encounter an impossibly upright shaft of flesh, its thick solidity testament to how he truly feels. I gasp in grateful awe, wrap my slender fingers around it and tug and release, tug and release, till he can barely breathe.

I take control, exterminating his dilemma and silencing his conscience. Pressing against him, I ease him back onto the bed and kiss his lovely mouth. My hand is still working on him as my lips move down his youthful body. Peculiarly drawn to his exotic organ, I suddenly find I have to taste him. I close my eyes, open and lick my lips and ready my eager tongue. An arrowhead of flesh parts my lips. I draw it inside and twirl my tongue around the unexpected, unwrinkled smoothness of his sturdy staff, his rigid giver of life. My glistening saliva dribbles down him, tracks the bulging veins. Insistent hands grasp my head and prise it away.

'Stop! Stop!'

Teasingly and dangerously, I lick him from balls to tip. This cock, so unlike my husband's soft and soiled offering, is deliciously clean, firm and made for sucking. It intrigues me.

'Why are you cut like that? Why is it done?'

'As an outward sign of my covenant with God. My people have observed the practice for thousands of years.'

'Did it hurt?' and I shiver at the thought. He shrugs.

'I was only eight days old, therefore cannot remember it at all.'

Scrambling on top of him, I draw his shaft across my wetness and sit on him, splaying my thighs around his hips. He pierces me, slowly slides up inside me, all the while rubbing his wetted thumbs across my hardened nipples. An alien sensation steals through my body; its growing intensity is akin to pain, though it is somehow sweet, so incredibly, headily, syrupy sweet. Each penetration is more than I can bear, yet I am unable to stop, driven to destruction by an irresistible urge. Thrusting upwards, he forces himself deeper, battering my welcoming womb with his unfailing phallus. He cries out to his god, his eyes roll and I feel his powerful contractions. I join his rapture; lose myself in unprecedented, body-shaking bliss as he pumps potential new life inside me.

I collapse onto his naked chest and hold him till our hearts have steadied. His voice is tiny and tinged with fear.



'Will I see you again?'

'Of course!'

'I mean... I mean like this?'

I kiss his forehead, taste his sweat.

'Oh, Adon... I hope so. That was so beautiful.'

Deep within my loins, I feel a tiny spark. Its undoubted presence momentarily steals my breath. I lie in the darkness, imagining the day when I will press my child's lips to my swollen breast, feel him suck while I gaze into his loving, trusting eyes. I resolve that in Adon's memory, I will choose a name similar to his, a strong Germanic name, so every time I call to my beautiful son, I will be reminded of this wonderful night.

He clings tightly to me and slips into sleep. Lying here in my lover's arms, it is hard to believe the real world, with all its cruelty, pain and privations, exists at all; it is harder still to imagine that tomorrow, should we pass in the street, I will merely nod politely.

'Guten tag, Adon.'

He will lift his hat, tilt his head and smile his beaming smile.

'Guten tag, Frau Hitler.'


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © © 2015 Alexandra Amalova
This work may not be copied, transmitted or used in any way, either in part or in full, without the author's express written permission.

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