my chair, walk around to where she was sitting, and console her with a pat on the head, a hand on her back, as it occurred to me that the cause of her infertility might very well be her husband’s semen count. And then, pressing her teary face to my torso in a comforting hug, I’d feel my beast rise up like a hound on the scent, straining to be let off the leash.
Self-control has simply never been our strong suit. Playing with fire, that’s another thing my youngest spawn and I have in common.
18 …
So it came about that in the period when the rutting hormone was being used in the development of an ever-growing number of drugs for female problems, the red light outside my door would come on with increasing regularity, indicating that I was not to be disturbed.
I was aware that stories were making the rounds about my magnanimous impulses; it was whispered that you could get a lot more from Mr. De Paauw than just pills. Girls from the factory floor were starting to find excuses to come up to my office and offer themselves to me, either subtly or less so, and not always because they were longing for a child. Although I did not as a rule like to disappoint these willing volunteers, I preferred to pick the girls out for myself. Sometimes, on one of my factory rounds, some young chick would attract my eye, and I’d stop to chat with her to get a sense of whether she was interested in taking our acquaintance to the next level. It was their eyes that told me they were willing, even if they didn’t even know it themselves. Of the ones I invited up to my office, some would simply offer themselves up to me, as it were, on a platter, whereas others, reticent at first, might need a little more persuasion. I must confess that their inhibitions didn’t always hold me back. There’s something titillating in a littleresistance, I find; a bit of a struggle, a head shaking no, a hand fending me off, a tussle, until the wench accepts the inevitable and lets you have your way, limp as a lab rabbit receiving an injection. Then, when it was over, I always knew how to make the girl feel okay about it, reassuring her with a loving pat on the rump before sending her back down to her workstation.
All of this didn’t have a lot to do with scientific research, naturally. My Garden of Eden was my own private domain, however. I didn’t have to report to Rafaël about it, and by rights it should also have fallen outside of Aaron’s morally superior oversight. But Aaron was starting to grow more and more suspicious about the parade of young girls trickling into my office and the red light blinking outside my door. His gloom seemed to be deepening by the day too, and as time went on I felt increasingly uncomfortable in his presence. The telling looks that signaled he was watching me made it harder to convince myself I was doing something good not just for myself, but also for my female visitors. Sometimes I wished I had a bit more of Aaron’s detachment, and that I wasn’t always ruled by the will of my rod. It would certainly have been worth it to be able to concentrate on the countless essential tasks demanding my full attention instead of being constantly distracted. That sex drive of mine—I wouldn’t want to be without it. Yet at the same time it was a curse I could not escape.
I was usually the last one to leave the administrative floor. One evening, noticing that the light in Aaron’s office was still on, I knocked on his door and went in. My brother was seated at his desk. He looked up at me darkly.
“What’s keeping you here so late?” I asked him.
He shrugged, raising his hunched shoulders even higher than they already were. His eyes, the same brown as mine but without the purposeful gleam, stared at me dully.
“There isn’t much for me to rush home for,” he muttered listlessly. “Whether it’s here or there, the silence is the same. At least in here I can pretend I’m making a difference. Even if all I’m doing
Self-control has simply never been our strong suit. Playing with fire, that’s another thing my youngest spawn and I have in common.
18 …
So it came about that in the period when the rutting hormone was being used in the development of an ever-growing number of drugs for female problems, the red light outside my door would come on with increasing regularity, indicating that I was not to be disturbed.
I was aware that stories were making the rounds about my magnanimous impulses; it was whispered that you could get a lot more from Mr. De Paauw than just pills. Girls from the factory floor were starting to find excuses to come up to my office and offer themselves to me, either subtly or less so, and not always because they were longing for a child. Although I did not as a rule like to disappoint these willing volunteers, I preferred to pick the girls out for myself. Sometimes, on one of my factory rounds, some young chick would attract my eye, and I’d stop to chat with her to get a sense of whether she was interested in taking our acquaintance to the next level. It was their eyes that told me they were willing, even if they didn’t even know it themselves. Of the ones I invited up to my office, some would simply offer themselves up to me, as it were, on a platter, whereas others, reticent at first, might need a little more persuasion. I must confess that their inhibitions didn’t always hold me back. There’s something titillating in a littleresistance, I find; a bit of a struggle, a head shaking no, a hand fending me off, a tussle, until the wench accepts the inevitable and lets you have your way, limp as a lab rabbit receiving an injection. Then, when it was over, I always knew how to make the girl feel okay about it, reassuring her with a loving pat on the rump before sending her back down to her workstation.
All of this didn’t have a lot to do with scientific research, naturally. My Garden of Eden was my own private domain, however. I didn’t have to report to Rafaël about it, and by rights it should also have fallen outside of Aaron’s morally superior oversight. But Aaron was starting to grow more and more suspicious about the parade of young girls trickling into my office and the red light blinking outside my door. His gloom seemed to be deepening by the day too, and as time went on I felt increasingly uncomfortable in his presence. The telling looks that signaled he was watching me made it harder to convince myself I was doing something good not just for myself, but also for my female visitors. Sometimes I wished I had a bit more of Aaron’s detachment, and that I wasn’t always ruled by the will of my rod. It would certainly have been worth it to be able to concentrate on the countless essential tasks demanding my full attention instead of being constantly distracted. That sex drive of mine—I wouldn’t want to be without it. Yet at the same time it was a curse I could not escape.
I was usually the last one to leave the administrative floor. One evening, noticing that the light in Aaron’s office was still on, I knocked on his door and went in. My brother was seated at his desk. He looked up at me darkly.
“What’s keeping you here so late?” I asked him.
He shrugged, raising his hunched shoulders even higher than they already were. His eyes, the same brown as mine but without the purposeful gleam, stared at me dully.
“There isn’t much for me to rush home for,” he muttered listlessly. “Whether it’s here or there, the silence is the same. At least in here I can pretend I’m making a difference. Even if all I’m doing
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