Samuel laughed. To be accused of having that particular motive after forgoing all opportunities to take advantage amused him. He felt nauseous, in a pleasant way. "Well, good," he told Don Juan. "When you inserted my fingers into your mouth under the table in the opium den where I found you, it could have given me the wrong impression. It is sensible of you to clear that up."

He doubled over in the chair and put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Goosebumps spread over his body. Then it hit him like lightning into the base of his spine. He had not done this in so long that he had almost forgotten the feeling. Everything in his body contracted. He felt his own nails dig into the skin of his scalp, where he was propping up his head. Like surfacing after a long time underwater, he drew in a breath of air. There was suddenly an enormous release in him. The ice that had been covering his insides, rendering them unresponsive and dead, started melting. Comically, he felt like he could cry in relief, although he couldn't. He found himself back upright, standing, lightly swaying.

"Five more minutes." He belatedly answered Don Juan's question. The absurdity of the situation ceased to matter to him. A layer of heat settled on his skin, protecting him from the harshness of the man's gaze. "As they say, there is nothing like the first time," he added. Although his words felt hazy in his head, they came out sharp and clear. He leaned back against the wall next to the fireplace, trying to settle into the shifting tides of sensations. A part of his attention remained fixed on Don Juan. Since every person was different, getting the dose exactly perfect on the first try was not guaranteed.

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