Tuesday, December 05, 2006

From Swerve of Shore to Bend of Bay: Part II, chapter 1 from The Edge of the World (a novel in progress)

"My name is Lemuel," I said to her. "I work with dogs."

I had walked into Macy's one hot day and was wandering around the ground floor when I saw her—a tall brunette with big tits, no bra, and eyes like a hungry mongrel. I knew right away she was one of those sexy and smart types—into books, theater, liberal politics—but who nonetheless liked men with a bit of a rough side to them.

"Attack dogs to be specific. I train them for use in stores, offices, anyplace where they need tight security after hours but can't trust a human to do the job."

"That sounds interesting," she replied, bringing her hand up to the base of her neck.

"It is," I continued. "To be able to take a tiny innocent puppy and bring out its natural instincts—its original sin, if you will—so that it develops into a ferocious killing machine is—how shall I put this?—exciting?"

I smiled at her. She brought her hand up to her mouth.

In the evening I came back to meet her. I knew that after my strange introduction the best way to intrigue her even further was to start our date in the most conventional manner possible... I took her to dinner at Houlihan's, then to a French film at the Cineplex. As I sat in the theater I kept thinking how later I'd take her to my house in Staten Island. How I'd be fucking her on the kitchen floor while out back my dogs are going crazy, listening to my wild grunts and her Banshee-like shrieks and moans. How the movie we were watching would be far in the back of her mind like a remembrance from childhood. But still, she would feel it...It would affect her actions. The distant memory of the Eiffel Tower lit up after midnight would make her thrust her hips a little harder. The faint vision of the Arc D'Triomph and the headlights of the hundreds of cars beneath it would make her rub my cum over her breasts more vigorously. The recalled sounds of conversation and the clanking of bottles and glasses in a Paris barroom would make her scream, "Fuck me, monsieur," or better yet, "Fuck me, mon Dieu," as I plunge into her with all my weight and determination.

In the morning I showed her the dogs. When they rushed up to the fence, growling, baring their teeth, she didn't blink an eye.

"These dogs have already been trained," I said.

I put my arm around her. We stood there for a long time, she laying her head on my shoulder as the dogs continued to growl, salivating as they watched with almost covetous interest this tender moment between humans.

Standing there with Maria I felt that at last I was far from Athens, Georgia, the absurd little town where I grew up. And that I was even farther away from Lily and, for that matter, Leonard. Leonard, hopelessly and perversely romantic, in love for all time with our sister Lily. Lily, who with either long blonde tresses or fashionably short locks was an exquisitely holy fuck and consummate master at sucking dick.

Ever since I could remember I wanted my sister Lily. But it was my very birth—by a rather difficult caesarian procedure, my father told me—that brought her and Leonard close together. And while the more acceptable pattern would have been for me to develop an Oedipal complex, I was jealous not of my father for being foremost in my mother's affections, but of my brother for being, metaphorically speaking, the apple of my sister's eye.

It was Leonard who, despite all my efforts to get myself noticed, occupied all of Lily's time and attention. When she was sixteen, though, she started dating Jimmy, a big dull brute from the school football team. I thought that at last she was ready to give other guys a chance, and that I might be among those she took on. But instead of slowly fading from the picture, Leonard proceeded to begin fucking her and even convinced her that he was the only one with the right to do so. It was almost too much for me to take. And although I was only ten years old I understood that to inform our parents of their activities would preclude any chance I had of ever being with her.

So I listened. I put my ear up against the wall between my room and Lily's room. I heard them moaning softly—they were trying to be quiet. I put myself in Leonard's place, imagining I was the one sucking on her nipples, sticking my finger in her tight little asshole. For a minute I actually believed I was fucking her, over and over to the point where she was ready for death, ready to be eaten by worms until there was nothing left but a satiated skeleton. But when I again realized I was alone, on the other side of the wall, a tremendous sense of anguish came over me. I fell back onto my bed, exhausted by the strain I had placed on my imagination.

They, not Jethro and Ellie Mae, were my inspiration for sex. When they ran off the following spring, without a word to anyone, I felt helpless. Lily was gone... And everyday for the next two years I sulked, pined, moped, languished at the very thought of my absent sister. It was my one period of romantic obsession, a time of illness during which I experienced headaches, chest pains, and convulsions for which the doctors had no explanation. I came out of this difficult time by realizing that what I needed was distraction, a new more obtainable object of my obsession. And furthermore I needed a new order of obsession, an obsession that was pure and true, and thus untainted by even the slightest afterthought of love.

Eva was the name of my new obsession, and although I always addressed her as "Miss Dupree," in my mind I thought of her as "Eva." She was twenty-three years old, from New Orleans, had a mild Cajun accent, olive complexion, dark hair, big tits, and was my seventh grade science teacher. In school she was somewhat reserved, sullen even, and aside from the proportions of her bosom had nothing in common with Lily. But I knew that with a little work I could reach her, make her smile, laugh, toss back her hair, open her arms, and spread her legs.

I began innocently enough by paying attention, for the first time in two years, to what was going on in science class. I was trying, as undignified as it may sound, to become the teacher's pet. Whether or not that made me unpopular with the other kids in class was of no concern to me—being the teacher's pet would be my introduction, as it were, my opening line.

By the end of first semester I had gone from a "C" in science to an "A." In class I had become the student who in addition to asking the most difficult questions also gave the most precise, involved answers, answers that showed I had developed an understanding of science way beyond that of the other seventh graders. Eva was pleased, very pleased, and when she first congratulated me on my new found interest and excellence by patting me on the shoulder, I had to stop myself from responding to her gesture by grabbing onto one of her breasts. I was on my way, I knew, but I had to remind myself to be patient and carry my plan out to its conclusion.

Over the course of several months Eva and I got close, close to the point where although she was still reserved with her other students, with me she was warm, light-hearted, talkative. "Hello, my friend," she'd say when I ran into her at the end of the day. I always lingered about on the school grounds when classes were over so I could see her. "So...what's going on?" she'd inevitably ask as if she were speaking to a fellow spy or conspirator. "Same old shit," I'd answer, then ask, "What's up with you?" She'd then continue with whatever was on her mind, be it the weather, Watergate, or even the state of her being as in "it's that time of the month again." To get her to speak to me, her student, of such personal matters was in itself quite an accomplishment. But she had come to understand that I was advanced not just in my understanding of science, but also in my view of the world, and rather than feel threatened by it she was, on the contrary, intrigued.

The time to make my move finally came in the spring. We were at the annual school picnic at Watson's Mill Park, a half hour drive from Athens. While all the other kids spent the day playing volleyball or riding down the creek in inner tubes, I stayed right where the parents and teachers were. I had to stay near Eva and wait because I knew that here, away from school, was where I would get my chance.

And so it was four in the afternoon when one of the parents started cutting up a watermelon. Eva walked over to get a slice, and when she went back to take a seat underneath a tree I sat beside her, my own slice in hand. As I sat there making small talk about how nice a day it was I noticed that each time she took a bite her eyes widened, as if every bite and every successive taste of watermelon surprised her somehow. When the watermelon juice began to slide down her chin I knew the time was right to change the topic of conversation.

"Miss Dupree," I said, "I've been thinking about this seriously for a while now, and I've come to the conclusion that, when I'm done with school, what I'd like to do is work with animals. Most likely for the purposes of medical research."

When she turned to me the juice gathered on her chin, ready to fall. She tried to catch it with the back of her hand, but when she reached up several drops fell inside her blouse.

"Really?" she asked.

"Oh yes," I answered. "I'm not at all squeamish about dissecting live animals and performing experiments on them. I think it would be rather interesting and besides, it's important work."

She gave me a quizzical look, then continued eating. But now, rather than savoring the taste of watermelon, she was merely going through the motions of eating. When she was finished she let out a sigh of relief and looked down.

"My hands are so sticky now," she commented.

I turned to her, noticing the wet spots on her blouse and the heaving of her bosom.

"Mine are too," I said.

I suggested we walk over to the creek where we could wash up. Standing first, I held my hand out to her. Looking up at me Eva's eyes widened and her lips parted slightly as if she were about to speak. She said nothing, though, and simply stretched her arm so I could help her to her feet.

Knowing that all my classmates had gone downstream, I led Eva in the opposite direction. When we got to the creek we squatted at the water's edge and reached in. Eva rubbed her fingers together, then brought a handful of water up to her face as she looked upward. I did the same but then, pretending to lose my balance, I let myself fall into the water. Eva looked down and started laughing.

"Eva!" I shouted, holding out my hand.

When she reached out to help me up I pulled her toward me. As she fell I spread my arms, than wrapped them around her back. I immediately kissed her hard on the mouth, worked it open, and stuck in my tongue. It didn't take Eva long to realize she wanted it. I unbuttoned her blouse, undid her bra, and tossed them out of the water. I pulled down her pants and tossed them to the side as well. By the time I got to her panties I was impatient and when they cleared her feet I just let go, allowing them to drift downstream. I was already hard, and after pulling my pants and underwear to my ankles I entered her. I was doing well, I thought, especially for my first time with a girl. She started moaning, screaming, shrieking, "Oh God, oh Jesus, oh...oh..." and no longer was I just on my way. I was there. I was doing it. With Miss Dupree no less.

When we were done we stepped out of the water and wrung out our clothes. As it seemed to be the polite thing to do, I apologized for losing her panties. We walked along the creek for a while until our clothes felt dry, then headed toward the picnic area. When we were near I let her go ahead of me—she didn't want to be seen returning with me. I stayed behind and waited ten minutes before moving on. When I got back to the picnic area one of my classmates came running up behind me.

"Look what I found," he said.

He held out a pair of panties.

"Wow," I said, pretending to be impressed. "Where didja get that?"

"They were floating down the creek."

"Wow," I said again.

He reached up, holding the panties high above his head for all the parents and teachers to see. He was smiling as if he'd just gotten the prize of his life.

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