The Schemer

3 A.M. People

The first time Clara was introduced to the world of sex when she was eight, by her own grandfather. Unlike her parents, the old man was not involved with drugs, had a reputable life teaching English Literature at Harvard, projecting the future that she could have had if Clara's mother had never met her husband and followed the steps of an addict.

Granddaddy loved his little rebel, that's what he kept constantly saying. She was such a great, good girl. She would never follow her mother's steps, would she? No, the girl would never do that. Not a chance, right, sweetie? 

Clara's grandfather used to take her to his house every weekend, where she was treated like a little princess, the future queen. His maids looked after her when Clara played in the garden, or when she did her minor experiments in the kitchen, never interfering, just smiling brightly and cheerfully when the girl threw a look their way. But Clara was not an actual royal, and the old man kept saying that if she wanted to pretend to be one, there was a price to pay. A tiny, irrelevant price for her loving granddaddy. 

He explained how a girl can satisfy a man in the simplest way. Move your hand up and down, honey, and squeeze occasionally. Caress them like the greatest treasure. Good. Good, honey. Such a talented girl. A quick learner.

By the time when Clara was ten, she and her grandfather had an established routine. The girl would be at granddad's on Friday, Saturday and Sunday every week. He would pick her after school. Clara ate lunch with the old man sitting next to her, occasionally asking questions about school, friends, never about his own daughter. The little girl, despite growing in a hardly reputable house herself, knew what being polite meant to the outer society, and had developed her artificial manners. When she would finish her meal, the old man took her to his huge library. It smelled like wood, leather and books. He would sit on a large leather armchair, motion to Clara with his large, long-fingered and elegant hand, and wait patiently till the little girl neared him. 

After two years, she already knew what to do. Lowering herself down in front of her granddad, Clara would loosen his belt and with cold, controlled face free the old man's organ, which had already started hardening. Then, just like he had taught her, the girl moved her small hand up and down with an occasional gentle squeeze until grandfather started grunting with his penis vibrating, continuously being stimulated by the granddaughter's hand. With an emotionless face, she would watch and endure it, and only in those steely, cool eyes the disgust, aversion shone when thick, white spurts escaped from underneath her bony fingers. Good girl. You did so well. So good. Granddaddy is so proud of you, honey. 

The same routine would last the whole weekend. Every day at three P.M. Clara would patiently wait in the large library, stiff but determined, for her grandfather to pay his little lady a visit.

One day, wandering around his large property, the girl noticed something laying on the ground, small and nearly invisible, piping silently underneath a large oak. 

Nearing the place, Clara found a baby bird, fallen out of his nest. Too tiny to fly, it was doomed to die in the mouth of a predator - a cat, a hungry rodent, predatory bird or any other small fry. Following some weird voice in her head, the girl picked up this pathetic creature, holding it gently between her long fingers. The bird was covered in soft, fine feathers, its little wings, too weak to hold his own body weight in the air, fluttered aimlessly against Clara's hands. The girl stared at it, cold eyes not giving out any emotion, just following the movement of her own fingers in concentration. Little after little, she started squeezing the creature in her hands, peeping increasing with every second, grip tightening, steely orbs watching. 

She didn't hear a snap, didn't feel a burst of the bird's tiny organs. No, the only thing that the girl felt was a vibration. A warm body in her hands, vibrating, giving out, relieving itself, twitching slightly, providing the same feeling as her grandfather's penis, when his semen seeped out of its end. Closing those freezing orbs of hers, Clara allowed herself to pretend that it was her granddad, who she squeezed the life out of. A gentle, clean death, no violence, just... A vibration.