The Visit – 6

“You’re goofy”, he said breaking and laying back.

(Continued from The Visit – 5)

He slid his hand down her back wanting to cup her bottom but she was firmly planted, again caught in a wave of thinking and rethinking. His hand explored along the small of her back and as much of her butt as he could get, searching for ingress of any kind. He slid his finger into the top of her crease and wriggled it pushing in.  Again, he remembered that pull from years ago sitting next to her as she read ”Where The Wild Things Are” to him. He thought he remembered his head on her lap and put it there again.

This time there were no madras shorts between his cheek and her thigh and when he turned his head toward her, he caught a scent that was new to him but unmistakable. Like that French guy who ate the cookie and remembered his life; Jake knew that every time he caught this scent in the coming years, it would bring him to this bed, to his bed, in his parent’s house on this Friday night.

“You have to do something for me”, she said patting his head gently.

“Yes”, he said knowing he would have agreed to anything.

“When we’re done, you have to whip me. You have to beat me bloody. This is bad and I have to be punished for it.”

“I’m doing it too.”

“No. I’m the one doing it. It’s my fault, not yours. If you tell anyone I’ll be the one in trouble. You get that right? This is me doing this to you.” Feeling her words running away from her, she stopped then said, “I wish I wasn’t in here.”

“In my room?”

“No. In here.” She tapped her temple.

(Continuing…)

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The Visit – 5

“Brat…” she whispered with a rueful smile.

(Continued from The Visit – 4)

She pulled her T-Shirt over her head and shook out her bowl cut as if it was actually mussed. Hurrying, afraid if she hesitated she wouldn’t, she unsnapped her bra and shook it down her arms. Feeling too exposed standing there, she sat on the bed avoiding his eyes. She appeared slight-not small but slender in a way that she never appeared clothed; more a girl rife with ridges and edges than a fully rounded woman. He recognized the tomboy that had taught him to ride a bike a few years before and he remembered suddenly the pulling feeling he got back then that he didn’t understand.

He bumped his thumb along her ribs and she snorted quickly and blocked him with her elbow.

“Tickles.”

Protecting her ribs opened her breasts to him. They were no more than thickened medallions on her chest. He rose to the closest one and gently kissed it-once below the nipple then slipped his mouth over it feeling it harden. She arched her back slightly pushing toward his mouth and ran her hand through his thick hair.

“Ohhhh man…” she sighed. “This is so bad…”

He pulled his mouth away from her snapping a thin tendril of saliva. “You say that once more, you’ll be the one getting a spanking”, he said then kissed her hard breastbone before licking the other.

“I deserve it”, she whispered then pulled back as he tried to kiss her.

“No kisses, please…Save them for your girlfriend.” He held his mouth in place-suspended in front of hers. “Please…” He redirected his lips and gave her a kiss on the cheek while cupping the back of her head.

“You’re goofy”, he said breaking and laying back.

(Continuing…)

The Visit – 4

Her legs were now pressing against the bed and he was looking straight up at her. “I’m afraid something’s going to happen. And I don’t want it to.”

(Continued from The Visit – 3)

“If you don’t want it to, it won’t”, he said.

“It’s not that easy.”

A tear glistened in the gray light coming through the window.

“I can’t help myself. I’m sorry. This is so bad.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” He reached up and brushed the tear from her face before awkwardly squeezing then patting her shoulder. “Do you want to spank me again?” There was no answer. “It’s OK if you want to…”

“No” she whispered allowing her hand to slither under the bedclothes and hover, barely touching his cock, rising like a cobra to the flute. “I don’t want to spank you again.” She pressed her palm lightly onto the hardening bulb blooming through the fly in his boxers. “This is so bad”, she said keeping her hand where it was. “This is so bad”, became her litany, repeated over and over in hopes the droning lamentation might mitigate any repercussions of what was to come.

She unsnapped her jeans and slid them easily over her hips to the floor. Her eyes, adjusted to the light in the room, looked for a reaction. He was up on an elbow watching, desperately wanting to turn on the lamp but fearing light would somehow break a spell and everything would disappear in a puff. Afraid of words, she hooked her thumbs in the elastic of her panties and rolled them down and off. His eyes settled on the dark patch below her belly. Having glanced it before in no way diminished the wonder of beholding it presented to him at eye level.

He reached out then and put his hand on her bare hip registering that this was the first such touch he’d ever had. Her skin was warm and tight across the bone.

“Your shirt too”, he said rubbing the side of her thigh in a way he thought was tender.

“Naw, come on. I have tiny boobs”.

“They’re fine for me. Come on…”

“Brat…” she whispered with a rueful smile.

(Continuing…)

The Visit – 3

Perchenonso

Perchenonso.tumblr.com

(We’re dropping into the middle here…)

He heard a light scratching at the door before it clicked open slowly, spilling a thin wedge of dim hall light into the room. Her head was a backlit silhouette. He was half expecting her, having heard the phone.

“You awake?” she whispered.

“Yeah, come in…” She seemed to hesitate before sliding sideways inside. He stayed on his back but pushed up onto his pillows. The sheet, twisted up in the chenille spread, covered him from the waist down.

“Don’t you wear anything to bed you brat?” She barked a husky laugh but didn’t look away from his chest and shoulders. The smell of Christmas followed her-he knew she had been into Mom’s gin.

“I’m wearing shorts”, he said.

She hovered over the bed as if stumped about why she was there. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again, satisfied to breathe a moment. Was it stuffy in the room? There was a window to her left that looked out over the side yard. She probably should open it. But instead of moving, gulped another breath trying to settle the flapping in her chest. She slid closer to the bed.

She would be fine, went the thought, if she just touched him once. Just reach out and touch his shoulder, rub her hand over his thick, hairless chest, but she didn’t. For a moment she didn’t and almost convinced herself that she wouldn’t. But the moment dragged too long until her hand levitated forward of its own accord and feathered her fingers over his shoulder then across his chest just as she’d imagined, then withdrew. “I…I’m sorry. You’re…I’m sorry.”

“What’s up?” He asked rubbing his eyes but not really sleepy.

“That was your Mom on the phone. She said…she said the car’s broke down, but I think she’s loaded. And if she is your Dad is. So they won’t be coming home tonight.”

“Oh”, he said awakening to the heavy silence muffling him. “I’m fine…. If you want to leave I mean.”

“Uh…I’ve been into your Mom’s liquor. I probably shouldn’t drive….”

“Oh. OK.”

“But I should leave.”

They were speaking slowly-deliberately-as if translating their words from a different language.

“Why?”

Her legs were now pressing against the bed and he was looking straight up at her. “I’m afraid something’s going to happen. And I don’t want it to.”

 

(Continuing…)

At the VFW

 

I’m BOOZER! he roared

Slamming his fists on the bar,

Rattling glasses and tipping Baldy’s beer.

Jesus Walter, Baldy said catching what he could.

He’d been quiet, blinking behind his glasses for hours.

A man and his whiskey.

Now this.

I’m BIG BOOZER!

You’re Walter Tattalega, old white shirt said,

His officious head up his ass.

That was it from them for now.

When Boozer got started they melted into the dark paneling like oil

Leaving me alone to manage him

Because I was the bartender and bigger than them

But no way the size of Boozer.

Plus, I was a kid. The only battles I’d fought were on the football field-

Which counted for shit.

He had a bad war, they said. Whatever that meant.

Didn’t seem to be having a good peace neither.

He’d a killed me if he had a mind to. But he didn’t.

Word was he served with my uncle who didn’t come home.

He’d always let me walk him to the door, my hand resting on his shoulder

A giant breathing, ham.

Never pushing-just resting there-feeling the strength and the tension.

He touched me on the chin as he left-a soft cuff that

Made me wince.

They oozed back around the bar once Boozer was gone.

You think you could play ball, one said. You shoulda seen Walter when he was a boy.

Shame what happened to him.

Shame what they did to him.

I was suddenly too small to see over the bar.

Had to jump up to sit, legs dangling, on a stool,

Having a Pepsi and chips while the old man shot pool.

Christ, he’d a killed me if he had a mind. to.

 

©TDR-2018

Everything Changes

There had been a light snow around midnight so now I could see the bunnies in the yard, little dark blobs against the light gray. Hadn’t seen them for a while-it never occurred to me that they were haunting the yard all night, nibbling the frozen clover invisible in the darkness. She had stayed over and even the cats were on edge. She slept soundly upstairs allowing me to slip away for a glass of ice water and a pill. Quick shower against the funk of the night sweats while waiting for the tranq to take over. Had to stay ready when she was here. Didn’t know when she would come to me strapped, needing me to roll over and bite down on the pillow. It wasn’t as painful as it had been, but not comfortable, that’s for sure. Actually, after a few times, it felt more sad than anything. She no doubt got more out of it. She forbade haircuts recently-wanted to yank at it. Probably got the idea from that bumper sticker; you know the one: ‘If you’re gonna ride my ass at least pull my hair’, or something like that. She’s gotten pretty handsy lately. We were having dinner a couple of weeks ago over on the South Side at a new place-no one knew us. Everything seemed fine and I said something, can’t even remember what, and when I looked up she slapped me-full across the face. The restaurant was a white tablecloth place, all muted and quiet like and the slap rang out like plates hitting the ceramic floor. Her eyes were not flashing, like they would when she was angry. More questioning-curious. I rubbed the sting out of my cheek and said nothing while the diners settled back into their grazing, masticating and murmuring. Later that night she caned me beforehand and the pain was a true distraction leaving no time to feel anything- which I guess was the point.  Over the last four months I’d pared my book collection from over twelve hundred to eight and sent two closets of suits I never wear to the Veterans. I sold the motorcycle, still in pieces, that had been a project for years so I’m making progress. Still, when I told her once-I think it was the weekend of the slap-that I was in the mood for sex she said ‘Sure. What kind?’ I was stuck for an answer which probably led to what happened. It was fine though-she made it worth my while in the long run. But I have to have a ready answer next time.

Lines

I knew there was a line. Plenty of them-actually. Too fucking many of them. And they always moved, sometimes blurred, but they were there. And why were they scratching at the door so early, the cats? By rights, they were hers and she should have taken them with her. Some bullshit about no room, allergies, carpets, whatever-she just said what came into her mind at the time. So she’s gone, the cats are here. Three years of cooing, baby talk, petting and combing-out the fucking window. So I hadda get up-they wouldn’t stop. I stepped into the hallway dragging my feet so I wouldn’t trip over them-or stomp them-and went downstairs not turning a light on, so they would know somehow that it was the middle of the night and not time to be getting up. With only the streetlight watching I opened the can, split it into two bowls, added warm water and leaned back, listening to them lapping in the dark. I sure as hell wasn’t going to make coffee-had to be too early for that-so I opened the fridge for orange juice. None, of course. But there was a beer. A few actually, left from last night. How long ago could that have been? An hour? Two? It mattered somehow: was it still night, or morning? Quickly tired of waiting for an answer, I popped the top on one and closed the door, slipping back into the shadows. I expected to shiver at the first swallow, but it went down so nice. Nothing had felt that smooth in weeks. My cigarettes were in the jacket pocket over the chair. I grabbed the pack and headed for the door to smoke on the porch but caught myself. My fucking house now. Using a cat’s bowl for an ashtray I sat at the table and drained my first, or one of my last, beers of the day.