I unbuttoned the second button. Underneath was a red-­flannel shirt, with a triangle of white T-­shirt showing in the neck. I felt warm and guided, happy and healthy, and my eyes filled with warmth and love and gratitude as I held his face in my hands.

“I don’t know. I don’t think she deserves your love,” I said, then unbuttoned my own coat.

“I guess I could just take it back.” He began to wring his hands, cracking his knuckles. “I just really thought . . .” He seemed to notice me for the first time as I slipped out of the sheepskin jacket and unfurled the towel from around my shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh,” I said, laying a fingertip on his lips. “I’m just going to ease your pain.” I spread the towel on the frozen ground. “Here. Lie down. I’ll make you forget all about her.”

I could see he was nervous, and I gleefully imag­ined all thoughts of his broken heart fleeing in the face of a seduction. He lay back and I straddled his chest, lightly placing my knees on his arms. I began to rock back and forth, in time to the music in my ears, and I crooned softly to him as I brushed my fingers around his face.

He closed his eyes and a tiny smile flickered across his mouth. I pulled open the throat of his outerwear, exposing the tender skin, so winter-­white, so virginal, unspoiled, so beautiful. Not a whisker grew here, not a mole, a freckle, barely a crease. A smooth, wide-­open field with the faintest of pulses beneath.

Saliva flooded my mouth as ravenous hunger shuddered throughout my body. I leaned over and took what was mine.

His bucking was a distraction. I wished fervently that he would stop the silliness of a struggle; the victory was mine, was ours together. But soon he settled down and I quenched my thirst, sated my spirit.

The wound this time was small and precise; my technique was improving. I cleaned it with the edge of the towel, and wiped my face as well as I could without a mirror. I turned his peaceful face and traced the handprint on his cheek with a finger­tip. The swelling had gone down and it was no longer red but pale blue. Then I tenderly rolled the boy child over on his side, brought his knees up to his stomach, and covered his neck with the towel. I looked down fondly at him, such a child, such a little boy, all curled up like a baby. He was irresistible in his innocence. He was beautiful and had satisfied me so completely. I felt grateful. Grateful and happy and composed; complete and very sleepy. I lay down, snuggled up to his back and slept, succumbing to the softer strains of the music that stirred me, and like a lullaby called me gently to rest.