The Scorpion's Sweet Venom Read Online Free PDF Page A

cheat
     again. That was not my only surprise, nor the only lesson I learnt from the episode.
    When Mum was called into the school, my teacher told her it was normal for students to cheat. And that my cheat sheet was
     too big. Laughing, she held up the enormous sheet of paper. 'You'll have to learn to make smaller ones.' I couldn't believe
     it. I'd got a DIY lesson in cheating. She also praised me, saying she'd give me the point I needed to pass as Iwas a student
     who never stirred up trouble. Me? The things I got up to in her class - when I actually attended! Human generosity really
     walks strange paths.
    We'd already been in the room for almost half an hour. Though fast, both first and second rounds had been good. We had another
     half-hour, but the guy wasn't showing any signs of wanting to go for it again. Lying next to me, both of us naked, he asked
     if he could snuggle up to me. He got comfortable in my arms and there he stayed, playing with my breasts with his fingers,
     running them up and down my tummy. He was the one who broke the silence.
    'I'm attracted to my mother.'
    I like to talk to my clients. I talk a lot and they end up opening up to me. The things I've heard . . . It's my psychologist
     side. I'd like to be a psychiatrist, but I know I'll never get into medical school. But there's always psychology, closely
     related. And that's what I'm going to do, when I go back to my studies. I'll never be at a lack for material. But that's not
     what I was talking about . . . I'd read Oedipus, that book about the guy who's attracted to his mother, Jocasta. But I'd considered it nothing more than a Greek tragedy until
     that point-blank confession. The guy and his frankness awoke my curiosity. We talked a lot and he told me his motherhad fallen
     pregnant with him when she was very young, only sixteen. He must have been about forty-four, because, according to him, his
     mother was sixty.
    His attraction stemmed from his childhood (how Freudian can you get?). When he was still very young, his mother used to go
     round the house in a bra and knickers, and was very relaxed about it. They bathed together and everything. This desire and
     fantasy had stayed with him all his life. Even today, at his age, the guy is obsessed with the idea of having sex with her.
     When we'd finished, he told me he'd give me whatever I wanted if I could get her to go to bed with him. I led him on and asked
     for 10,000 reals. I admit the money was tempting, but I hadn't the slightest idea how to convince her to sleep with her son. He told me how
     he imagined the sex would be, how he'd take off her clothes, smell her knickers, lick her all over, the positions. A thousand
     fantasies. Which remain in his head.
    My desire to find out everything about life seemed boundless when I was fourteen. There were still things I wasn't clear about,
     of course. One of them was my own sexuality. I'd already given a lot of pleasure to the boys I'd masturbated at clubs, I'd
     held a lot of stiff dicks, but I didn't know if that was as far as pleasure went. I was curious to know what it was like to
     come into contact with another woman's body. And I was also afraid. What if I was a lesbian? At that stage in life, things
     are either black or white. If something's not black, it must be white. But I tried not to give it too much thought.
    One day, at school, the boy who sat in front of me had a copy of Playboy. He started flicking through the magazine in the middle of the lesson, and I peered over his shoulder like a pirate's parrot,
     fascinated by what I saw. I'd never seen magazines of naked women. These things never came into my house. Imagine the embarrassment
     of buying one at a newsstand. I asked to see it. He lent it to me and I loved it. During the break, I didn't think twice.
     I stole the boy's Playboy, stuffed it in my bag and took it home. I'd already masturbated looking at G Maga zine - which I'd bought often. But I'd never come looking at