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Sonia was seven when she realized she wasn't like her classmates.
"I don't think the substitute teacher will be coming to school tomorrow," she told her classmate that day, seeing her terrified by that sullen-eyed lady who had replaced their teacher, absent due to illness. He loved Moira very much and would do anything to make her feel better.
"You think so?" murmured the other one, doubtful, looking down at the desk.
"Tastes like hot metal with a hint of acid," she tried to explain, and got a confused expression in return.
She had smelled the same smell on her neighbor's breath and on the breath of the owner of the shop where her mother bought her a snack when he took her to school, just before they both had a heart attack.
"Can't you smell it?" he asked her, a little surprised.
Her partner had shook her head several times and ended up getting picked up by her teacher, and that was it. However, at recess, she asked the other classmates the same thing, realizing that she was the only one who could perceive that whiff of illness.
It had not occurred to her to talk to the teacher about it, because she disliked it and was afraid of it, and also because she didn't think it would do any good.
When the substitute teacher didn't show up the next day, her companion gave her a grateful smile in which a few windows were opened, as if the absence of the hag was due to her, which made Sonia very happy. She liked to help.
For her, the smells, all the smells, even those that most people found revolting, outlined a universe much more real than what she perceived with her eyes and which, unlike the latter, never deceived her.
She was eleven years old the day she learned to recognize the smell of sex, and it was not a pleasant experience.
She had an uncle who used to babysit her from time to time, since he was out of work. They spent a lot of time together, although she would have gladly done without him.
When they were alone, he would sit her on his lap and read her stories from an old storybook. Not on her knees, as her grandmother sometimes did, but just stuck to her chest, forcing her to dangle her legs on either side of his.
Every time, while his voice became hoarse, Sonia felt something big and hard growing under his bum, while a musky smell saturated the room. She didn't like that situation, just as she didn't like her uncle, but she was always trying to be polite and wait for him to finish the story.
She had learned early on that if she wiggled her buttocks a bit he would do it much sooner, usually stopping reading and starting to sigh, so she always did it to her uncle's satisfaction.
Obeying orders made her feel calm and secure, giving her a pleasure that she could not explain in words, a sort of pleasant languor in the lower abdomen, but it did not happen every time, and above all it never happened when she was with her uncle.
The day her life changed, they were alone in the house, as was often the case.
Halfway through the story, with the hard thing moving under her ass like a snake, Sonia asked to go to the bathroom to pee. She didn't lock the door because Mommy didn't want to. "If you feel bad we can't go in" she often repeated to her, and she, as obedient little girl as she was, followed the advice that time too.
But while she was sitting on the toilet, Uncle went into the bathroom. She was paralyzed, but didn't have the strength to protest.
"Excuse me," he told her, without even mentioning going out, "I have to do it too."
Sitting on the toilet, while her uncle looked at her, Sonia saw that the front of her pants was puffy as hell. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax so her pee could come out. It seemed to take her a century to do it all, while she smelled the strong musky smell of reading her stories scattered all over the small tiled room.
As she was cleaning herself with paper she noticed the way her uncle stared at her, concentrating on the inside of her thighs, and was afraid.
She pulled up her panties with her little hearts and ran out, but he stood in front of the toilet, blocking her passage.
With gestures made awkward by her hands shaking slightly, she opened her pants and pulled down her baggy boxers, pulling out her thingy.
Sonia had seen one of her boyfriends once, and her daddy's too, but that was different. It was very big, like a knotty stick with a smooth tip.
"I can't do it," he complained.
"Why?" Sonia asked.
"See how big it is?"
"Yes, I see it. It looks like a stick."
In fact, it was long, thick and knotty, and even though Uncle held it at the base with his big hand, it came out almost twice as far with a closed fist. The musky smell was so intense, she thought it would stick to her forever.
"When that's the case, pee can't come out," he explained, moving his hand up and down along the tool.
"How do you do that now?"
"I have to make it soft again," he said in a hoarse voice, sliding his hand faster along that meat rod. Sonia liked the situation less and less.
"Will you help me?" she asked, when she saw that the silence was getting too long.
"I don't know," she simply said. Obeying usually gave her confidence, but not in that case. She almost wanted to answer yes and satisfy her uncle, but a part of her that she had never suspected existed cried out not to, that obeying wasn't always right, especially if she didn't feel esteem, affection, and trust for the person who gave her orders.
Her uncle turned towards her, moving his hand faster and faster. Her tool was huge and swollen, the expression on her face turned upside down.
Sonia couldn't take her eyes away from the hard trunk of flesh that he was manipulating with increasing enthusiasm. He emanated an animal scent that she associated with visits to the stable of the educational farm where she had gone with the school, especially around the stallion's enclosure.
With her back to the wall and her eyes closed, she watched him approach. Suddenly something changed in the smell of that man so familiar and at the same time so alien, making her understand that, mixed with other things, shame had crept into him. But it wouldn't stop. The musky smell was too much stronger than anything else.
When he was very near, and from the top of his six-foot-foot-four, he towered over her barely 140 centimeters, he made a prolonged groan, and from the tip of his tool many jets of thick, white cream spurted out of her face and clothes, as slimy as hand soap.
As the warm rivulets dripped down her face like tears, the smell reminded her of the little white flowers that were born in spring on some trees in the park near her house.
As soon as it was emptied, her stick went soft again almost immediately and the body odor changed, turning towards shame and remorse with a very clear background of fear.
She had done something wrong and was afraid that Sonia would talk to someone about it, she sensed, in one of the epiphanies that would become familiar to her later in life.
While she was showering to wash away the sticky stuff she had soaked her with, alone and with the door locked, an act that had cost her a lot because it violated her mother's orders, but which she had deemed necessary, she heard the washing machine with her clothes, quickly loaded by her uncle, who was going ahead with the program.
Once washed and dressed, the uncle asked her to keep what had happened a secret. She reeked of fear, almost to the point of panic, but from the way she looked she wouldn't tell. But the smells never lied to her.
"Don't you think I should talk to Daddy and Mommy about it?" she asked in turn with unusual confidence, fully aware that it was the cause of the sharp escalation of her agitation.
"It's our secret," he replied in a shrill voice.
For the first time in her life, Sonia realized that she could get something out of another person, an adult, even by consciously manipulating them.
She let the smell of her uncle's panic rise to the level of the guard before responding.
"All right, but only if you promise me something" he finally granted.
"Anything you want," replied the uncle, spreading the sweet smell of relief around him.
"No more stories sitting on my lap," he said. "And I don't want you ever to pull your thing out in front of me again," he added, looking down the front of his pants.
"I thought you liked stories."
"I don't like them," she said, dry.
"All right," surrendered her uncle, wrapped in a dark cloud of surprise and disappointment.
Shortly afterwards, to Sonia's great satisfaction, he said he'd found a job and stopped going to their house.
"I don't think the substitute teacher will be coming to school tomorrow," she told her classmate that day, seeing her terrified by that sullen-eyed lady who had replaced their teacher, absent due to illness. He loved Moira very much and would do anything to make her feel better.
"You think so?" murmured the other one, doubtful, looking down at the desk.
"Tastes like hot metal with a hint of acid," she tried to explain, and got a confused expression in return.
She had smelled the same smell on her neighbor's breath and on the breath of the owner of the shop where her mother bought her a snack when he took her to school, just before they both had a heart attack.
"Can't you smell it?" he asked her, a little surprised.
Her partner had shook her head several times and ended up getting picked up by her teacher, and that was it. However, at recess, she asked the other classmates the same thing, realizing that she was the only one who could perceive that whiff of illness.
It had not occurred to her to talk to the teacher about it, because she disliked it and was afraid of it, and also because she didn't think it would do any good.
When the substitute teacher didn't show up the next day, her companion gave her a grateful smile in which a few windows were opened, as if the absence of the hag was due to her, which made Sonia very happy. She liked to help.
For her, the smells, all the smells, even those that most people found revolting, outlined a universe much more real than what she perceived with her eyes and which, unlike the latter, never deceived her.
She was eleven years old the day she learned to recognize the smell of sex, and it was not a pleasant experience.
She had an uncle who used to babysit her from time to time, since he was out of work. They spent a lot of time together, although she would have gladly done without him.
When they were alone, he would sit her on his lap and read her stories from an old storybook. Not on her knees, as her grandmother sometimes did, but just stuck to her chest, forcing her to dangle her legs on either side of his.
Every time, while his voice became hoarse, Sonia felt something big and hard growing under his bum, while a musky smell saturated the room. She didn't like that situation, just as she didn't like her uncle, but she was always trying to be polite and wait for him to finish the story.
She had learned early on that if she wiggled her buttocks a bit he would do it much sooner, usually stopping reading and starting to sigh, so she always did it to her uncle's satisfaction.
Obeying orders made her feel calm and secure, giving her a pleasure that she could not explain in words, a sort of pleasant languor in the lower abdomen, but it did not happen every time, and above all it never happened when she was with her uncle.
The day her life changed, they were alone in the house, as was often the case.
Halfway through the story, with the hard thing moving under her ass like a snake, Sonia asked to go to the bathroom to pee. She didn't lock the door because Mommy didn't want to. "If you feel bad we can't go in" she often repeated to her, and she, as obedient little girl as she was, followed the advice that time too.
But while she was sitting on the toilet, Uncle went into the bathroom. She was paralyzed, but didn't have the strength to protest.
"Excuse me," he told her, without even mentioning going out, "I have to do it too."
Sitting on the toilet, while her uncle looked at her, Sonia saw that the front of her pants was puffy as hell. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax so her pee could come out. It seemed to take her a century to do it all, while she smelled the strong musky smell of reading her stories scattered all over the small tiled room.
As she was cleaning herself with paper she noticed the way her uncle stared at her, concentrating on the inside of her thighs, and was afraid.
She pulled up her panties with her little hearts and ran out, but he stood in front of the toilet, blocking her passage.
With gestures made awkward by her hands shaking slightly, she opened her pants and pulled down her baggy boxers, pulling out her thingy.
Sonia had seen one of her boyfriends once, and her daddy's too, but that was different. It was very big, like a knotty stick with a smooth tip.
"I can't do it," he complained.
"Why?" Sonia asked.
"See how big it is?"
"Yes, I see it. It looks like a stick."
In fact, it was long, thick and knotty, and even though Uncle held it at the base with his big hand, it came out almost twice as far with a closed fist. The musky smell was so intense, she thought it would stick to her forever.
"When that's the case, pee can't come out," he explained, moving his hand up and down along the tool.
"How do you do that now?"
"I have to make it soft again," he said in a hoarse voice, sliding his hand faster along that meat rod. Sonia liked the situation less and less.
"Will you help me?" she asked, when she saw that the silence was getting too long.
"I don't know," she simply said. Obeying usually gave her confidence, but not in that case. She almost wanted to answer yes and satisfy her uncle, but a part of her that she had never suspected existed cried out not to, that obeying wasn't always right, especially if she didn't feel esteem, affection, and trust for the person who gave her orders.
Her uncle turned towards her, moving his hand faster and faster. Her tool was huge and swollen, the expression on her face turned upside down.
Sonia couldn't take her eyes away from the hard trunk of flesh that he was manipulating with increasing enthusiasm. He emanated an animal scent that she associated with visits to the stable of the educational farm where she had gone with the school, especially around the stallion's enclosure.
With her back to the wall and her eyes closed, she watched him approach. Suddenly something changed in the smell of that man so familiar and at the same time so alien, making her understand that, mixed with other things, shame had crept into him. But it wouldn't stop. The musky smell was too much stronger than anything else.
When he was very near, and from the top of his six-foot-foot-four, he towered over her barely 140 centimeters, he made a prolonged groan, and from the tip of his tool many jets of thick, white cream spurted out of her face and clothes, as slimy as hand soap.
As the warm rivulets dripped down her face like tears, the smell reminded her of the little white flowers that were born in spring on some trees in the park near her house.
As soon as it was emptied, her stick went soft again almost immediately and the body odor changed, turning towards shame and remorse with a very clear background of fear.
She had done something wrong and was afraid that Sonia would talk to someone about it, she sensed, in one of the epiphanies that would become familiar to her later in life.
While she was showering to wash away the sticky stuff she had soaked her with, alone and with the door locked, an act that had cost her a lot because it violated her mother's orders, but which she had deemed necessary, she heard the washing machine with her clothes, quickly loaded by her uncle, who was going ahead with the program.
Once washed and dressed, the uncle asked her to keep what had happened a secret. She reeked of fear, almost to the point of panic, but from the way she looked she wouldn't tell. But the smells never lied to her.
"Don't you think I should talk to Daddy and Mommy about it?" she asked in turn with unusual confidence, fully aware that it was the cause of the sharp escalation of her agitation.
"It's our secret," he replied in a shrill voice.
For the first time in her life, Sonia realized that she could get something out of another person, an adult, even by consciously manipulating them.
She let the smell of her uncle's panic rise to the level of the guard before responding.
"All right, but only if you promise me something" he finally granted.
"Anything you want," replied the uncle, spreading the sweet smell of relief around him.
"No more stories sitting on my lap," he said. "And I don't want you ever to pull your thing out in front of me again," he added, looking down the front of his pants.
"I thought you liked stories."
"I don't like them," she said, dry.
"All right," surrendered her uncle, wrapped in a dark cloud of surprise and disappointment.
Shortly afterwards, to Sonia's great satisfaction, he said he'd found a job and stopped going to their house.
