The Exile Book of Canadian Dog Stories by Richard Teleky

Author:Richard Teleky [Teleky, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Exile Editions
Published: 2018-08-11T00:00:00+00:00

Oscar was from the first completely open with me. Anita didn’t mind this sort of thing as long as she didn’t have to know about it. His relationship with me was restricted to Saturday nights and would be as entirely private as mine with Wilson had been entirely public. It would end with summer when he was free of his university teaching responsibilities to concentrate on his work. By then I should have become a competent sexual being ready for the open market. No, he didn’t put it that way. He was never again blunt as he had been about Wilson. Oscar knew how to be kind and funny about not quite savoury arrangements so that raising any objection seemed a regression to grammar-school morality.

Used to Wilson’s Spartan taste in food, I was unprepared for Oscar’s appetite, and he did not expect to help me in the kitchen or with any other domestic problem. He wanted to leave all husbandly and fatherly responsibilities behind him. He left whatever personal problems he might have had behind him, too. I’ve never known anyone as resolutely and often maddeningly cheerful as Oscar.

“I made a bargain,” he told me once. “If I made it through the war, I’d spend the rest of my life celebrating it.”

As he pointed out to me, I could have done worse than to offer my overdue virginity to Oscar. He did not rush me, and he was patient with my timidity and squeamishness. I felt rather like a child being taught to ride a bicycle, that is until he mounted me, and then I became my father’s violin, a thing seemingly of wood and strings, that charged Oscar with crazed energy. I did not know whether I was terrified of him or myself for the power I apparently had to call up such a rutting.

He did not neglect my “pleasure,” as he called it, so much as never clearly locate it. From his caresses, I thought I should gradually learn to purr like a cat, but I was too tense in my ignorance to feel the heat he called up as anything more than flashes of ambiguous feeling somewhere between pleasure and pain.

After he left, I often cried hysterically, a response that misled me to think I was in love with Oscar in a way I didn’t consciously comprehend, for I also came to dread his arrival on Saturday night, and I was giddy with freedom the few times he was unable to get away.

I did have the sense to refuse Anita’s invitation to spend Christmas Day with the family. Wilson and I had always planned something to circumvent rather than celebrate that holiday, he not wishing to be politely tolerated in the house where he had grown up, I not wanting to be reminded of the central delight I had been to my parents on such occasions. I have never even explored the cupboard where I supposed the Christmas decorations were stored.

I did what I had wanted to do when I first came home.

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