Thursday, January 14, 2016

Chapter 3



Chapter 3


            Maybe I need to back up. I really thought that Carol was gonna put out. I was already imagining what it would be like to enter her, to penetrate her. I honestly had no real idea. When she changed her mind I just couldn’t imagine letting her say NO. I had never considered raping some one, but in that moment I understood that I was stronger than her and that if I really wanted to I could make her. And that’s what I tried to do.

            So the question remains: did she fall, or did I push her? I’ve never been sure about that. Even now.

            So I ran. And I got away with it. Nobody ever even came to ask me any questions. I felt something. Guilt isn’t exactly what it was, but that word is close enough. Fear too.

            So it was a few days later when I was lying in bed trying to sleep and not quite making it. I had jerked off twice, which normally did the trick, but that night every time I closed my eyes I saw Carol. Not her face, her tits and her pussy. My ghost was a vagina. 

            So I was lying there in the dark and I heard something. It was a weird fluttery sound; something natural but abnormal. At first I tried to ignore it. I just clamped my eyes shut as tightly as I could and told myself that it was a branch rubbing against the window. Then something Precambrian slid across my cheek. It was smooth but textured. Some very old part of my brain recognized it as reptilian. At the same moment something soft a feathered flapped against my face too. Two animals were on me. A parrot and a snake maybe. My heart pounded and I started to sweat. I had to open my eyes. There was just no choice.

            And there it was. I had no idea what I was looking at. It would take hours of research at the library to learn that the thing living in my room was Quetzalcoatl. 

            The really surreal part was this: the minute I saw him I stopped being afraid. I knew instinctively that I couldn’t tell people about him, but I had no fear of the five foot long winged snake that had just shown up in my bedroom. He coiled himself next to me and beat a fan rhythm breeze with his wings and I slept deeply and well without any troublesome images to haunt my mind. 

            He was still there when I woke up. He stayed and I started to treat him like a pet. A secret pet, sure, but a pet. 

            And that’s the whole sordid Dadaist story of how I came to keep a South American God in my apartment like a cat or a Hamster.

            Disappointed much? 

            Like I said before: he stuck around for a while, then one day he vanished. He didn’t show back up until a few years ago and he’s been with me ever since. I’ll miss him if he leaves.

            I have two quick Scotch’s and then get undressed and climb into my bed. Sindee is still sleeping on the couch and I decide to leave her there. My head is pounding and I feel desiccated. My balls still feel heavy, but I don’t have the energy to deal with it. Instead I just fall asleep again.

            Water dreams. The flow and ebb and I get lost for a while. Something distant sounds like a voice and I’m starting to awake. It takes me a while to un-fogged and realize that it’s little Sindee talking to me. I work my eyes open and see that she’s standing next to the bed naked.

            I need something she’s saying.

            Yeah? What?  I see that she’s holding a bottle of lubricant in one hand. She’s pouring the viscous liquid into the other palm

            Show me your cock.

            I pull the covers back to reveal my penis. Sindee sits next to me and starts massaging the cold jelly onto my cock. I’m hard in seconds. 

            Then she gets on her hands and knees with her ass pointed toward me. She rubs the leftover lubricant against her vagina and her ass hole. 

            Fuck my pussy a little bit. Then fuck my ass.

            Okay. I do as I’m told. When I pull out of her tiny little cunt and start trying to work myself into her ass she says:

            Harder. Do it fast. Make it hurt.

            I do. I fuck hard and I don’t take my time. I’m done about two minutes later. I pull out and collapse on my back. Lying here I realize that I’m done with her.

            I feel like shit. I decide to show her something. Just a little thing to scare her away.
            I get up and go get my cigarettes and my Zippo. Those in hand I sit on the edge of the bed and light one of the un-filtered smokes. I look at the hot tip for a second then I say You wanna see something cool?

            Sure.

            I blow on the tip of the cigarette, then I touch it to my forearm. Lightly at first. I suck in air through my teeth in reaction to the sting. She’s looking at me with wide eyes. She looks surprised, but not scared. So, to really get things going I jab the cigarette into me hard. I give it a twist, which extinguishes the flame but not before it burns an ooze crater into my flesh. I scream a deep scream that sounds more like anger than pain.

            She puts her hand on my shoulder and says Do that to me.

            What? Are you nuts? It hurts.

            I know. I want it to hurt.

            Do it to yourself, then.

            I can’t. I need you to do it for me.

            Sometimes you need someone to do it for you when you aren’t strong enough to do it for yourself. That’s just one of the facts of life. I can’t say no.

            Give me your arm. I light another cigarette and she lays her arm across my lap. The back of that tiny arm is resting on my cock and I have to admit that it feels nice. Make a fist and get ready for it. You ready?

            She inhales deeply and says Do it.

            I touch the tip lightly to her skin. She makes a sound that I confuse for pain. Harder you fuck. Harder!

            I jab the cigarette in hard. I can feel the tip of it penetrating into her arm a little as the top layers of skin melt away.

            FUCK THAT HURTS! FUCK. GOD. SHIT. PLEASE DON’T STOP! She’s screaming at the top of her lungs and I’m afraid that the neighbors are going to call the police. How the hell am I going to explain why I was torturing an underage girl after ass fucking her.

            I toss the spent cigarette aside and light another. I’m going to smoke this one.

            She’s crying a little. Her arm looks like an angry wound and there’s a trickle of blood from the new orifice I created for her. She looks up at me and says: Thank you. That was the best sex I ever had.

            That wasn’t sex I say.

            Bullshit. Of course it was sex. Do it again.

            No. I’m not wasting another cigarette.

            She falls onto her back out of breath. Then she rolls fetal to face me, to wrap herself close to me and says I think I’m in love with you.

            Shit is all I say in response.

            Marry me she says.

            You’re a little kid.

            I’m just fucking with you, dumbass. 

            Oh.

            You want me to suck your cock?

            Maybe later.

            You better make up your mind soon. I’ve got to go home tonight and I don’t think I’ll come back here.

            Oh. That was easy. I had pictured this long drawn out why we can’t be together conversation that turns into accusatory shouts of I’ll tell my parents you raped me and you’ll get ass fucked by some guy named Bubba in prison for the next ten years kind of night. Turns out I had nothing to worry about.

            So I let her suck my cock. When she’s done she brushes her teeth and gets dressed. I kiss her goodbye at the door and give her ass a good hard squeeze. Then she’s gone and I have to figure out what I’m going to do next.

            The first things is I shower and shave and brush my teeth. I've decided to call Garret. He's a guy from work that I hang out with sometimes. 

            I've got an old fashioned rotary phone, which is fine unless I need to call someplace that has one of those automated menu systems that always asks you to press 1 or 2 or something. I can't press 1. Anyway, I dial Garret's number. It rings a few times and he answers.

            Ahoy he says, which he thinks is funny but most people don't get.

            Hey man. It's me. I don't have to say my name. He knows my voice and besides, not that many people call him anyway.

            You dog, zup? He really talks like this. He loves slang, colloquialisms and anachronisms. A conversation with his is a psychotropic linguistic experience.

            Nada. I'm just seeing if you wanna hang out tonight. Got any plans?

            Shit yes, hooker. I'm hittin' a sweet ass party. You wanna roll with me?

            Sure.

            Sweet. Drop a dime when your ass is ready to be picked up. 

            Will do Hebrew.

            He laughs at that. I guess he hasn't heard that before. I can tell that he’s adding it to his verbal inventory for later use.

            I hang up the phone and sit down to relax until eight or so.  I’m watching Dr. Zhivago on TV and eating left over pizza from the Jurassic period. On screen a train is rolling like something Thomas Carlyle might have imagined and I can almost smell the snow.

            My arm is starting to throb where I burned it. There’s a pus-scab starting to form from the yellowish ooze and I get up to find some antibiotic ointment to put on it.

            The medicine cabinet is a mess. There’s shit in there that I don’t remember buying or using. Finally I find some generic Neosporin and slather a thick glump of it on the wound. Then I decide on a bandage to cover the hole. I don’t need people puking from the sight of my arm.

            With the wound covered I go back to my movie. Pan and Scan and cut up with commercials for dog food it isn’t really worth watching. I turn it off and go to get a book.

            Next to my bed I find Death on the Installment Plan. This is one of my favorites. That Celine guy really had it right: life is shit. I’m not gonna describe the events of the book to you; that could be construed as plagiarism or something.

            Anyway, I read until eight, then I call Garret back. He shows up at my door about twenty minutes later.

            When he knocks I have to scramble. I forgot to lock Quetzal back in his room and he doesn’t want to go. I have to work to catch the little freak. With him handled I get the door.

            Whassup buttercup? What took you so long?

            Sorry man, I was taking a shit.

            It’s cool. Let’s forty-two skidoo.

            And we go down to his car. It’s a lot nicer than mine. He drives one of those hybrids that get super gas mileage but look like something out of a bad 1970s sci-fi movie. The thing is butter yellow, but always very clean.

            So where’s this party?

            It’s out on Canyon Street. Some rich kids house. Pinky told me about it.

            Pinky was sort of Garret’s girlfriend. They didn’t really date each other, but they had sex whenever they weren’t getting it elsewhere. Since neither of them had been getting it elsewhere for a couple of years they were pretty much an exclusive thing even though neither of them would admit that on pain of death.

            Yeah? Pinky gonna be there?

            Maybe. She didn’t say.

            Garret doesn’t know that I had sex with pinky a couple of years ago. She had come with him to my place and he had passed out early in the evening. While he was out I had taken her into my bedroom and we had screwed as quietly as possible. Then she went back to the couch and slept next to him.

            I have no idea if he’ll be pissed if he ever finds out. I gotta tell you the truth: I hope she is there.

            I've done Garret's older sister Fiona too.

            And his little sister Andrea.

            Maybe I'm not such a good friend.

            They call her Pinky because she used to have pink hair. That only lasted for a few months, but the name stuck. She a skinny little thing with almost no boobs and no butt to speak of. Her face is plain; you know the kind, she isn’t pretty but she isn’t ugly either. She always laughs no matter if what you said was funny or not.

            Oh, and she’s in love with Jean
-Paul Belmondo. I swear she told me one time that she masturbates to Breathless. Seriously, that movie is porn for her. I think that’s kind of hot.

            I used to know a guy who would jerk off to Scooby-Doo. I mean, not the dog, but the show. He would pause the tape when Daphne was on screen and whip it out. Seriously, this guy came to cartoon images of a character called “Danger Prone Daphne.” When I think about that I don’t feel like such a freak.

            I wonder for just a second what Sindee is doing. That’s out of my mind now. I’m watching the scenery, such as it is, through the car window. There’s an old man, obviously homeless, without a shirt digging through a trashcan. His ribs make a pattern like the beams in an old barn and I can almost see the joints (sutures, they’re called) in his bald skull. He looks like I want to feel.

            I let myself zone. The car goes dim and I’m not here but I’m not really gone and everything is all right. Then Garret is talking.

            We’re here. Let’s go get some.

            Inside the place is packed. I don’t see a single face I know, which seems just about perfect. We find the bar and I get a couple of glasses of Jack and Coke and we head across the sweaty room to see what there is to see.
           
            In a back room I find a throng of people around a table. They are crushing up some sort of blue pills and sprinkling them into the weed that’s packed into the bowl of a sizable pipe. It gets lit and starts to pass around the circle. By the time it gets close I’ve insinuated myself into that circle and I take a long slow draw from the pipe. 

            It hits me and I’m warm but off balance. The quality of the light has shifted down an octave and all the voices seem to be muffled. I feel well, which is a little scary. There’s a girl next to me taking off her shirt; her unrealistically bit tits seem to be elastic as they slow-mo bounce and jiggle their way out of her tank top and I think I’m trying to reach out to grab one of them.
            Yeah, I definitely have one of those giant tits in my hand and an angry voice is saying something like get you hands off my woman and I see this giant black guy looking at me with eyes that have turned fire and teeth like a leopard. 

            I try to make a noise like apology and stumble back a few steps. My feet catch on each other and I almost over balance and then there’s Pinky with her hands on my shoulders saying come on and leading me out of the room.

            Hey Pinky is what I think I’m saying, but I can’t be sure.

            Let’s go she says from about a thousand miles away. In this light her hair is pink again. Or maybe it’s green. Or maybe they’re the same thing. She has be by the hand and she leads me upstairs and into an empty bedroom.

            Lie down she says.

            I start to take off my pants.

            No. Not like that. You need to lie down before you fall down. You just attacked some girl.

            She took her shirt off.

            No, sweetie, she didn’t.

            Oh.  I lie down on the bed. I think she’s lifting my feet up, but I’m not sure. Then she sits next to me and strokes my hair. After a while I think to ask Where’s Garret?

            He was hitting on some girl in a cheerleader uniform last time I saw him.

            Oh. Aren’t you jealous?

            What?

            Aren’t you jealous?

            Why should I be? It isn’t like we’re dating or anything.

            Oh yeah.

            She keeps stroking my hair and I think I’m about to pass out. Boy, this has been a great party: twenty minutes in and I’m finished.

            Pinky is making Shooshing noises and I’m all the way to gone.

            Water dreams.

            I wake. Pinky is sleeping next to me. I'm the big spoon and I'm holding her tit in my left hand. I don't really want to move; this feels nice. Light is spraying in through the window and I'm wondering how I'm going to get home.

            When I finally lost my virginity, this was about a year after the mess with Carol, it was with the girl next door. None of the Church girls ever gave in and after Carol I was done with that scene. The girl next door, Sally, was older than me by about a year and kind of fat. When she let me put my penis inside of her I fell instantly in love. She wanted nothing more to do with me after I came. I guess I've learned a lot from her.

            I've decided to wake Pinky, but I take a minute to feel her ass first. It's flat and hard. This girl has no body fat at all.

            My hand moves from her tiny boob and to her shoulder.

            Pinky. Hey kiddo, wake up. I give her a shake and she says something filled with sticky sleep that I think may be a muffled fuck you. Come on. You need to wake up.

            Christ, she says. Okay, she says. She stretches her entire body and yawns then stands as says I'll drive you home.

            I get up and follow her past the piles of sleeping or passed out people that litter the floors of the place.

            In the car she says I felt you up while you were asleep.

            Oh yeah? Why didn't you wake me?

            You were in no shape to fuck. Hell, you were barely in any shape to stay alive.

            I guess that's about right. You wanna fuck now?

            Don't be silly. 

            We drive and I think about all the bad things I've done in my life. I don't have time to list them all.





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