She always had to wait because Mr. Pyne took a long time to gather the courage needed to open the door even to someone he knew and was expecting. He also had a series of absolutely necessary manoeuvres to perform: one tour of the room, three full-circled pirouettes, and one wide-armed open-palmed stretched appeal to the heavens. It was only then could he feel able to open his front door.
“Hello, Mr. Pyne. It’s nice to see you again,” she says passing him as if nothing is unusual. Mr. Pyne is wearing a red and blue turban, a long silk kaftan in bright blue and gold over dark blue Turkish pants and a stick-on moustache. He lets her pass, furtively checks the balcony for prying eyes, closes the door firmly and reattaches three latches.
Veronica, Susan, had put the little suitcase on a small table in the small but incredibly neat apartment and is now undoing the multiple zips as Mr. Pyne sheds his middle eastern disguise and emerges in a white shirt, a loose school tie, duff-grey school shorts, long white socks and no shoes.
“Well, that was close. Did you see all the slightly open doors along the balcony? Bloody cheek! They won’t let up you know.”
“Mr. Pyne what could they possibly want with you and what could you possibly want with them?”
“Exactly.”
She opens the suitcase and takes a step towards him. He takes a step back. Susan ignores this. ”Now, Mr. Pyne, are you ready for another fitting?”
“No! Absolutely not.” He stands rigidly with his eyes closed.
“Oh! OK, you’re the boss.” Susan returns to her suitcase, closes the lid and multiple zips, picks up the suitcase and heads for the door.
“OK, OK, OK!” says Mr. Pyne with head averted as if expecting disgusting medicine.
“Oh! Alright then.” Susan returns to the little table, puts the suitcase on it, opens all the zips, and then the lid. ”Now, Mr. Pyne, are you ready for your fitting?”
“...yes,” he says in a little voice that sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else.
“Good,” says Susan. “Now first let’s get you out of your day clothes.” Susan starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, being very careful not to touch his flesh. Mr. Pyne is rigid and holding his breath. “Breathing out, two three four, breathing in two three four.” Susan stops and looks. “Mr Pyne?”
“mm.” The voice is high and squeaky like air escaping a balloon.
“Breathing out two three four, breathing in two three four. Breathing out two three four, breathing in two three ...”
Mr. Pyne, now with a red face, explodes the air out of his body,” A-a-a-h! Twothreefour!”
“Very good, Mr. Pyne. Breathing in two three four, breathing out two three four,” continues Susan casually undoing all his shirt buttons as Mr. Pyne accustoms himself to Susan’s breathing rhythm.
“Breathing in two three four, breathing out two three four,” repeats Mr. Pyne.
Susan peels the shirt off him revealing a white singlet underneath, folds the shirt neatly, and lays it on the sofa. With two fingers of each hand she takes hold carefully of a little fold of singlet at Mr. Pyne’s waist and continues her chant, “Breathing in two three four, arms up two three four,” and Mr. Pyne obeys like a good little boy and Susan whips the singlet off and lays it neatly next to his shirt.
“And now Mr. Pyne ... Oh, did I tell you that in just a little while I’m going to touch you? Just a little bit ... you’re going to have to help me a bit here...Open your eyes. Open...open.”
Mr. Pyne opens his eyes and Susan gently and slowly puts her hands, almost but not quite, on his pale chest and takes them away just as slowly. “Ooooo! You know what mother says: she says she wouldn’t put up with another hand upon me,” says Mr. Pyne is a voice like a crotchety aunt.
“But I just did.”
“What?”
“I just touched you. You saw.”
“What?”
“Like I did before. Like all those times before.”
“But I didn’t feel anything.”
“See how unimportant it is.”
“Does she know?”
“No. Nothing’s happened; so no. See.” And Susan holds up her unfettered palms so Mr. Pyne can see them. “And see? This is now the second time today,” she says as she lays her hands gently on his cool chest.
Mr Pyne holds his breath.
“So now we can get to work.” And so with efficient speed and while chatting about nothing, Susan unbuttons the shorts and takes them off, “Now this leg, now this leg,” and she removes his long white socks, “Now this leg, now this leg,” with Mr. Pyne’s total co-operation. He seems to be amazed that the roof has not caved in and that the walls are still standing. He stands there in his white baggy briefs. Susan hasn’t gone past this stage before but without hesitation she thumbs his briefs on each of his hips and whips them down, “This leg, now this leg,” and Mr. Pyne stands there naked; and Susan says “Oh the traffic today! You’re really very lucky to work from home, Mr. Pyne. I sometimes wish I could do that as I said to my gardener, Neville, just the other day how nice it would be to work from home; and now Mr. Pyne I’ve got some wonderful new clothes for you. Look at these,” and she holds up a pair of stylish white and blue Aussie Bum briefs. “So let’s see how they fit. This leg now this leg,” and she hoists them up. “Now look, Mr. Pyne, look here. These have a little pouch and the salesman told me that they are very comfortable, see? So let’s just put your testicles in here,” and she gently lifts his balls and slips the edge of the pouch under them, “Now how does that feel, OK? Now do you dress to the left or the right?” she says with his penis in her hand, “Like this?” as she tries the right.
“No.”
“Oh, so to the left then,” and she replaces it, “or do you want it down,” and she replaces it again.
“I can’t believe nothing’s happening.”
“Is that OK?”
“No.”
“Then back to the left then. OK?”
“Ah oh! Something’s happening!” and he looks down at his penis in Susan’s hand as they both can see it growing slowly and gaining momentum and weight; she can feel it, like something waking up. Mr. Pyne’s eyes grow in direct proportion to his penis; Susan looks up at him looking down and she looks just as amazed as he is at what is happening, and when his eyes are as big as big can be his pelvis starts rocking. This is virgin territory for Susan but she goes along with it, increasing her grip, his lack of violence or revulsion she takes as encouragement. Mr. Pyne seems unaware of what his body is doing and why it is doing this; it’s as if he has never seen it do this before.
She places one hand on his buttocks to give her leverage and holds his penis firmly as his body moves it in and out along her fist. His face and body begins to react as if something more is about to happen; something bigger but unknown, something he is sure is not far away. Susan mimics his look of astonishment
