Halloween

She was a monster. I was not attracted to her in the least, but she was there, at the bar, drinking. It had been a while since I’d slept with anybody. She was, allegedly, a friend of a friend, so likely the enemy. A rather heavy goth chick. I was into petite women. Asian women. Clean women. This woman was very heavy, very white and had sloppy tattoos, intentionally torn clothing and broken-down, oversized Doc Marten boots. Glasses with lenses so thick I could barely tell she had eyes, which, when I squinted, appeared tiny, like bug-bites. Pasty-faced with unevenly cropped black hair that looked unnatural. Vampiric. Maybe there were flies circling her head. Probably just tracers. Since I was high on something somebody had given me to snort, likely from a trade-off, an eighth of weed for a bindle of something or other; I could’ve been seeing anything. Ghosts. I was dealing weed, but I was a shit dealer. I barely maintained enough of a margin to smoke out my friends. The real friends anyway. I’d had the bogus friends surgically removed in Mexico since my nonexistent insurance didn’t cover pest removal. I ordered a beer with a double shot of Stolichnaya. I had indulged in a short chat with the Goth but now she’s glued to her cell phone, checking texts, checking her pulse, probably Googling my ass. It was a new thing, to Google. Got any doubts? Google it. Anything. Anybody. Anywhere. Why bother with education when the answer is instantly available at your fingertips? Shit. I actually was published, I actually did have work appear side by side with Burroughs and Wanda Coleman and Antler. But modern folk need hand-held, digital verification. I must have passed the screening, since the Goth was now sidling up closer, our barstools practically entwined. I snuck another look. She was fucking hideous. I was in the weeds for sure. Hours seemed to pass. The place was busy and loud with the TVs tuned to a spastic basketball game, with fat-ass Elvira-slash-Morticia Addams jabbering away drunkenly, punctuating points by poking my forearm with a pudgy finger. Annoying as fuck. My guess? It was about time. I didn’t want it to be. Then she mentioned that she had a car. It was drizzling and the wind was picking up threateningly. My motto? It always rains on assholes. This night, heading towards definitive proof. My room was across town. In the house of the Brown Man, who doubled as my supplier. Ballard. Not too shabby, but a helluva long bus ride, and taxis cost a mint. I earned my pittance on meager tips and dime bags. We scurried to her foreign subcompact, which sported a huge dent in the front right fender. Red flags waved across my vision. My instincts urged me to flee but too late, we were rolling. It was quite a way from Eastlake to Ballard; one must traverse the University Bridge to Roosevelt, take a left on 45th, cruise through Wallingford, but where 45th merges into 46th, we had some trouble. Directly under the 1-5 overpass the car suddenly began to fishtail. The Goth had lost control. Out of control in the pouring rain. The vehicle made a gnarly hard right and lurched head-on into the retaining wall of the underpass. Fucking shit… I looked around. I checked myself, patting my chest, my legs, my head. Everything seemed to be in order, or, at least, the same as before. I looked over at the Goth. Her head was hanging low over her heaving breasts, her hands clutching the steering wheel, fingers gripping the vinyl in senseless chubby fury. Was she sobbing? I couldn’t quite say. Then she let out a piercing scream. Where was Google now? The shock of the collision seemed to have activated something inside her to take action. With an impressive display of nimble agility for a person of her bovine physiognomy, she exited the vehicle, to assess the damage. I tentatively followed. It wasn’t that bad, just slightly more damage to the already-smashed front fender. The left rear tire was blown. You got a flat, I pointed out, ridiculously. No shit, Sherlock, she bemoaned. Do you have triple A? She shot me an acid look that said of course I don’t have triple fucking A you heartless bastard. I shrugged. We stood there for a minute as cars shot past through the slick. Then she got back in the car and started it up. I looked in through the passenger door quizzically. Just get in, she mouthed. I shrugged again. Shrugging came second nature to me. I got back in and we took off, the injured, protesting wheel dragging along, alternating between thuds and screeches. I could feel it getting more and more mutilated and misshapen as we navigated the next 30 blocks to the Brown Man’s house. I had to hand it to Morticia; her dogged determination was noteworthy. We arrived and she parked the car. I found my key and in we went. She saw the fridge and gestured defeatedly. You got any beer? I took a number of beers out of the fridge, trendy microbrews that somebody else had bought. We trudged up the staircase to my room, dripping and beat. I’d recently moved in and occupied the smallest extra “furnished” bedroom. There was a cheap Ikea dresser and a thrift-store mattress and box spring set on a rickety wood frame and headboard. We sat side by side on the bed and drank the beer in silence. Then she took off her clothes, slowly, as if undressing for the gas chambers. I shuddered. I finished my beer, removed my clothes and got into bed with her. She was everywhere. There was so much of her, I thought she might spill over onto the floor. I didn’t care. I somehow found the target and started humping. I wasn’t panting with exertion or sweating at all. It was all very robotic. She made small, whimpering noises. The bed was really moving. All of a sudden, with a harsh creak and snap, the side rails collapsed, jettisoning us to the floor in a heap. Good fucking grief, I thought, what a fucking travesty. The Goth was on her knees, crawling unsteadily, crying. I laid there for a while, then got up and dragged the wreckage of the bed frame into a corner. I kneeled to where she was now squatting, offered my hand. I led her to the mattress where she collapsed in surrender. I flopped down on the mattress as close to the edge as I could manage and went to sleep. In the morning, she was gone. I wandered around the house. No trace. I went outside where the streets were still wet, but the rain had stopped. She had driven away in the wrecked car with the flat tire. I didn’t hear from her all that day, or that night, or the day after. A week or so passed. I was relieved. The night of depravity in question seemed like a particularly repugnant dream that had diminished with time, leaving only an embarrassing memory. Until one afternoon at the restaurant I got a call on the phone in the office. It was The Goth. You gave me chlamydia, she accused. Your dick gave me a STD, asshole! That’s impossible, I said, my dick is perfectly antiseptic. You must have caught it from the next guy. Or the one after that. Are you certain it’s chlamydia? Perhaps you ought to Google it. And please, refrain from dialing this number again. This is a business line. I hung up. She didn’t call back. I never saw her again. Maybe she moved out of town. That kind of thing happens a lot.

Eve

Unlike the first rib cracked I wore a raggedy black cape and plastic fangs even to midday snack. Snack was cold pancakes left over from the dogfights. Technically we had to wash out our mouths with chlorine before meals. Eve had the teeth of a cross-eyed shetland pony which everyone agreed was adorable. The both of us were prescribed plastic specs we coulda been freaking cousins as per our mutual Ashkenazi ancestry. The hippie cult in charge put on these funky dances for the pubescents featuring the local AM radio hit parade which every year only differed according to tech advances in autism. Since I never removed my black velvet shroud I was basically shunned. The nerd element hadn’t entered our current chrysalis status especially with the girls so it was kept secret that I was their adorable little fiend. Despite my fits, fainting spells, spasms, seizures, tantrums and frequent bouts of hyperactivity, indispensable prerequisites for a growing young evil empath, ahem. Eve was a little tramp in training, she had that heroin-chic look going on at age 10 even a diet of potato chips and peanut butter cups couldn’t solve. The dance floor was a rickety wood-slatted platform built in the pioneer days doubtlessly by slave labor or at the very least indentured servant hicks. Oak trees, pine, sequoia and acacia, dirt paths and dented metal garbage cans. Very pissed-off birds. Supervised by drop-out vagrant chaperones whose filthy feet and underarm values were based on what psychotropics they happened to lift from the village pharmacy. Polar opposites of our guardian-captor-kapo parents. The discerning eye overall winking like a volcanic asshole at the mere mention of our existence. Crocodile Rock, Love Will Keep Us Together, Night Fever, Mamma Mia, Shining Star, Livin’ Thing, will it never end will I ever kiss a baby toadstool will the sneezing ever abate did I just trip over my fangs could a fiend be more of a danger to himself than any ol’ idjit biting off his own tongue. I moved quirkily and shuffled around elbows in ears, caught Eve right in the tit or the makings of one. My intricate plan to ask her to go steady shoved to the back burner as she crouched and rocked, arms hugged across spindly chest, painful mortification creasing her features. I poked her gently as if at a dead bird on the sidewalk. I tried soothing words without actively opening my mouth: struck dumb in her moment of crisis I attempted a sort of rudimentary telepathic sequencing. Best as I could muster. And failed. My literary trauma began with cribbed letters to Eve, an admixture of fluff and insult upon which my inevitable troubadour internship relied. Meanwhile I muddled through the motions of enduring activities meant to achieve fun. Ping-pong, softball, archery, water polo, tennis. Despicable acts of useless competitive vanity. Horseback riding wasn’t entirely appalling, though; I vibrated  to the sharp smells of the barn. It seemed to harden my baby walnuts which stirred and crackled for the wrangler, a husky strawberry blonde lesbian. Miniature brains cavorting, I put two and two together, Eve riding sidesaddle with the dyke. However, any attempt to tug synthetic designer cowboy boots on her dainty Semitic feet and that asthmatic tart would probably drop dead. Certain heavily edited teleplays in my head developed in time with the whiffs of cheap Mexican grass being smoked by the dirty hippie counselors. But was it? Was it all in fun? Our smooth, prepubescent, white, unadulterated bodies could’ve been manufactured by Mattel. I yearned to kiss Eve but it was a struggle to muster the courage to simply grasp for her hand between dances. When I finally did it was like plunging my digits into a damp hole full of worms. Gross. My future self advised me to get used to it. Because it gets nothing if not worse, once you venture inside the body, exploratory-like, in the heat of things. But it ended suddenly, like a knife attack. Out of nowhere the buses pulled up raising dust while suppressing pheromones. The first camp session was over. Belongings packed as per my astrological predisposition: fanatically minimal, neurotically organized. But at the last moment I was held back; a call made, the message received, as if a stay of execution: I was to remain for the second session. The parents were adjusting verily to my lack of presence. They’d sooner frequent the tennis club where avoiding each other with practical emotional detachment was vogue. The cultists locked me in a closet for two days while reconciling the camp grounds to Talmudic specifications. I enjoyed the privacy. When it started again I concentrated on swimwear trends and chlorinated waters. Lush minnow, river porpoise, I failed as neither when a streamlined entity joined my piscine frolic. Mermaid in training? I think not. Just another preteen heeb cutie helping me reduce drag. All smiles. She did the work as I pantomimed my best dog paddle. So what if it wasn’t Eve. Eve had left the garden to return to the big bad city. The serpent in my ear with a direct connection to the baby eel in my swim trunks had some pertinent advice: Get wet filthy thing!

Happyboy

“KID DON’T LOOK NO FUCKIN’ EIGHTEEN,” the old man mutters, glaring at Happyboy from just inside the front door of the apartment. 

A foul odor spills out from the apartment into the cold night air. It smells to Happyboy like puke and shit and piss mixed in with momma’s old breakfast casserole. But it doesn’t make him sick, it just makes him hungrier. A familiar pang rises from his gut while the man continues to stare at him.

“He’s my own brother – y’think I don’t know how old he is?” Jade replies irritably, standing on the dull gray concrete walkway outside the apartment. Jade wears a black vinyl miniskirt over fishnet stockings and stiletto heels. Her cleavage spills out of her tight halter-top, her nose and eyebrows pierced and bare arms heavily tattooed. 

The old man looks her over again, absorbing every detail with hungry bloodshot eyes. He looks back at Happyboy. “How old’re you, kid?”

As if on cue, Jade turns to Happyboy with wide expectant eyes, her parted lips silently mouthing words to him. Happyboy looks over at the doorjamb, gazes over the splintered old wooden doorframe, then replies, “Eighteen.”

The man raises his eyebrows with a smirk. “What year ya’ born?” he asks gruffly.

Happyboy goes silent and looks at Jade in confusion.

“My brother’s kinda slow. He don’t remember shit like birthdays an’ all too good, but trust me he’s eighteen,” Jade explains.

“Y’all ain’t with the cops?” the man asks suspiciously.

“Fuck no, man!” Jade replies, then dips her head down toward the parking lot in front of the building. “That look like a fuckin’ cop car to you?” She adds, “An’ if we was cops, we’d gotta tell you right? So now y’know we ain’t cops.” 

“Who’s in the car?” the man asks, looking down at the beat-up Honda Civic in the parking lot, its windshield cracked and front bumper hanging off with a large dent on the hood. A dark silhouette shifts behind the driver seat with the bright orange ember of a cigarette tip slithering beneath his hoodie.

“Just a friend – he’s good, just drivin’ us, nothin’ to worry about,” Jade answers while she steps forward into the doorway and softly presses her body against the man. “Don’t you wanna party with me tonight?” she asks, slowly blinking her eyes and pouting her lips. “I promise you’ll have a good time with me.” She brushes her hand down the man’s protruding gut, grazing it against his crotch and keeping it there a long moment before pulling it back. 

Happyboy shivers in the bitter cold, teeth chattering. He hugs himself tightly for every bit of warmth he can muster, welcoming the temporary distraction from his overwhelming hunger.

Gazing down at Jade while his hand pets her lower back down to the curve of her ass, the man says. “Okay, just sit tight while I go talk to my ole lady. Be right back.” He closes the door, leaving Jade and Happyboy alone in the cold dark night.

“Freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off out here!” Jade says as her quivering hand reaches into her purse to pull out a pack of American Spirits. She has to huddle against the gray stucco wall to light her cigarette as the bitter wind howls through the walkway. After a long drag from her smoke, she walks over to Happyboy. “You okay, baby boy?” she asks, brushing his tousled hair back from his forehead.

“I’m hungry,” Happyboy mumbles with large sad eyes. He puts his arms around Jade’s slim waist, hugs her tightly and presses his face into her side. “I thought we goin’ to Golden Corral? Please Jade, I’m hungry!”

“We will, baby, I promise. Just gotta finish up here then Liam’ll take us. Don’t you worry.”

“Why’s Liam gotta come? Can’t we just go?” Happyboy whimpers as a strong gust of cold wind whips through the walkway and blows his hair back.

“C’mon now, Happy, y’know we got no other ride now. I’m workin’ on gettin’ us a car but for now we need Liam.” Jade’s voice hitches and she presses her lips to Happyboy’s forehead. “I’m doin’ my best for us, baby, I promise.”

A tear rolls down Jade’s cheek and drops to the crown of Happyboy’s head. While it trickles down his scalp, he looks up at her and says quietly, “I know you are.”

Jade walks over to the rusty iron gate at edge of the walkway and looks down at the car, where the bright tip of Liam’s cigarette sits motionless behind the dark windshield. She nods down and hugs herself for warmth, then turns back to the apartment door when she hears it creak open.

“Okay, we’re good, now come on in an’ get the hell outta that cold,” the old man says when he reappears in the doorway. He moves aside to let Jade walk into the apartment leading Happyboy by his hand.

The first thing Happyboy sees when he enters the filthy, cluttered apartment is the woman on the lime-green sofa holding a can of PBR in one hand and a cigarette in the other. An oversized Star Wars t-shirt is pulled down over bony knees with pale skinny legs bent and tucked beneath her. She takes a drag from her cigarette, exhales, then studies Happyboy through a cloud of smoke. “Well now, Jesus H. Christ, will ya lookit the size ’a that lil’ fucker,” she says lazily then shifts her gaze to the old man. “Sure he’s ol’ ’nuff, Jebby?”

The man scowls back at her. “This ain’t a fuckin’ job interview, Gin. Said they ain’t cops and big sister here swears he’s eighteen.” He looks over at Jade, who nods her head to reassure him.

The woman looks Jade up and down, appraising her like a piece of used furniture, then shakes her head and smirks at the man. “Okay Jeb, go have some fun with your lil’ ragdoll over there while l get on wit’ tubby.” She purses her lips at Happyboy and, in her raspy smoker’s voice, says, “C’mon over here big boy, let ole’ Ginny take a look at ya’.”

Happyboy looks up at Jade, who nods back at him while Jeb’s grubby paw clenches her ass. “G’head, Happy, it’ll be okay,” she assures him.

“Happy’s his name?” the woman laughs. “Fat lil’ bastard don’t look too fuckin’ happy to me. Looks sick after eatin’ a truckfulla flapjacks!” 

Jeb cackles out while his lips nestle into the crook of Jade’s neck, his nostrils absorbing the pungent scent of cheap perfume.

“It’s just his nickname,” Jade explains quietly while Jeb snakes his tongue up her neck to her earlobe.

“Never heard ’a that nickname before,” Jeb remarks while he takes a brief pause from nibbling Jade’s ear.

“Our momma used ’a take us to McDonald’s and he’d say ‘I wanna happy’ when he meant to say happy meal. So we started calling him ‘Happyboy’ and it just stuck.” Jade looks down at Happyboy with a smile.

“Well he sure ain’t look like he missed too many happy meals,” Jeb chuckles, then looks over at Ginny who’s taking a pull from her PBR. “Clock’s a tickin’, ole girl, so you let Happyboy here make you right while me’n big sis’ get to know each other.” He grabs Jade by the wrist and leads her toward the bedroom.

“Hold on now,” Jade says, planting her feet in the stained shag carpet before Jeb can pull her further. “We gotta get paid first.” Looking up to meet Jeb’s gaze, she taps his stiffening bulge and says, “You gotta take care of us, honey.”

While Jeb moves his hand from Jade’s wrist to his pocket, she says, “An’ my brother’s starvin’ hungry now, you got anything here he can eat?”

“Whatever he can find over there’n the kitchen,” Jeb mutters as he pulls some folded twenties from his pocket.  

Jade turns away and hurries to the kitchen before Jeb can hand her the cash. After looking around, she returns with a half-loaf of Wonder bread and open bag of Doritos. She hands them to Happyboy who immediately digs in. 

“Peel that mold off the bread before you eat it, Happy,” Jade instructs as she looks in disgust at the bluish-green bread crusts visible through the clear plastic bag. Happyboy ignores her and stuffs a handful of the moldy bread into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he wolfs it down with a steady hum.

“Lookit ’im go!” Ginny exclaims, shaking her head in amazement as Happyboy polishes off the bread then plunges his hand into the open bag of Doritos. “Don’t get too full on me, boy, y’got s’more eatin’ to do tonight,” Ginny laughs. She glances over at Jeb, who’s looking down impatiently at Jade as she counts the bills he just handed to her.

“Only a hundred bucks here,” Jade says, glaring suspiciously up at Jeb. “The deal was two hundred for both of us – what gives, man?”

“You’ll get the other hundo after,” Jeb replies while pulling Jade into the bedroom. “It’s on the dresser.”

Ginny leans back on the ratty sofa and pulls her t-shirt up above her waist. She spreads her legs open and angles her pelvis toward Happyboy. “Pull my panties down, chubbyboy,” she commands as she leans back into the armrest of the sofa. When he hesitates, she looks up at him angrily, her small beady eyes boring into him. “C’mon now, don’t you know what the fuck to do? Your sister told Jebby ya’ did.”

Too scared to speak, Happyboy hears the man’s groans start up then get louder through the thin bedroom wall, followed the rhythmic sound of a creaking bedframe. He looks back at Ginny, now perched on her elbows glaring at him and saying something that he can’t make out while the buzzing in his head kicks in and grows louder, drowning out every other noise in the room. His head begins to spin and the dizziness sets in. His stomach churns and he can feel a sharp acidic taste at the back of his throat. He grows lightheaded, then stumbles forward to the armrest of the sofa opposite Ginny. He leans into it to steady himself.

Happyboy is ripped out of his stupor by Ginny’s hand yanking him forward so hard by a fistful of shirt that his head snaps back. The buzzing in his head stops abruptly, replaced by Ginny’s loud voice. “—ckin’ retard? Get on up here and take off my panties!” she screams at him with a violent scowl.

Happyboy reaches his hands up to Ginny’s bony hips and pulls at the sides of her light blue cotton panties. He only has them down to her upper thighs – revealing a thick reddish-brown bush that crawls down out of sight beneath her crotch – before a powerful gut-wrenching stench attacks his nostrils. He grimaces and squeezes his eyes shut as he’s assaulted by the ungodly stink of raw sweat, filth and putrid unwashed pussy and ass. Like a living breathing organism, the stench slithers through his nostrils and permeates his head, marinating in his skull and crawling down through his throat and lungs, activating the acidic bile at the pit of his stomach. Happyboy’s stomach churns again. He tries but can’t subdue the gassy belch that rises up from his gut. He knows what’s coming next. But this time he can’t stop it. 

Ginny’s eyes bulge out in disgust as the contents of Happyboy’s stomach pour out – covering her hairy crotch and lower stomach up to her abdomen with fresh glistening vomit. Unable to control himself, Happyboy turns and plods toward the bedroom door, stopping halfway to lean over and puke into the already-nasty shag carpet. Wiping off his chin, Happyboy pushes open the bedroom door. “Sorry, Jade, but that lady—”

Happyboy stops abruptly. Both stark naked on the bed, Jade is on all fours with Jeb kneeling behind her, thrusting into her with loud porcine grunts and flesh slaps. His pale flaccid pock-marked ass jiggles like jello while her head knocks against the metal headboard with each thrust. Both of them turn their heads at once when they hear Happyboy enter the room. 

“Get the fuck outta here, kid! You’re s’posed to be with Ginny!” Jeb screams at him, then looks furiously back at Jade. “What the fuck’s goin’ on here, sis’? I ain’t even come yet – now get ’im the fuck outta here!”

Jade opens her mouth to speak but when she sees Happyboy’s face she jumps up off the bed and wraps the crumpled bedsheet around her. She hurries over to Happyboy, who’s sobbing hysterically and saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to.”

Jade puts her arm around his shoulders and presses her cheek against his damp tear-stained face. “Oh baby, just calm down now. Tell me what happened.”

Before Happyboy can answer, Ginny rushes into the room with a pistol in her shaking hand pointed right at Happyboy. Looking at Jeb, she bellows, “Fat lil’ fucker just puked all over me!” She turns to Jade. “I don’t care if Jeb ain’t done with your skank ass, hand over what he paid you then take your little piggy and GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!”

Jade steps in front of Happyboy, shielding him from the gun pointed at his head.  “Ma’am, please. I’m sorry about what he did, it was an accident. Now please calm down and then I’ll get dressed and get the money. We’ll give it back to you then leave. But please lower the gun, you’re scarin’ the shit outta my brother.”

“Just put your fuckin’ clothes back on and gimme the money,” Ginny repeats without lowering the gun, now pointed at Jade. 

Jade nods obediently, then picks her clothes up off the floor next to the bed. Seeing an opportunity, she looks over at Happyboy, who’s standing frozen at the foot of the bed, staring at her in a trance. “Oh no, Happy, you don’t look too good,” Jade says. “You gonna be sick again?”

When Ginny and Jeb look over at Happyboy, Jade quickly pulls her cell phone from a pocket in her skirt and thumbs the keypad without either of them seeing her.

Happyboy looks down quietly, sniffling and shaking his head. 

“Fat lil’ bastard better not puke again. Now hurry the fuck up and hand over the money you nasty-ass whore!” Ginny commands while Jeb, now with a towel wrapped around his waist, walks over next to her. 

Jade hands the folded twenties to Ginny, then starts to put her clothes back on next to the bed.

“Hold on now, big sister, I ain’t had a chance to finish off yet,” Jeb says as he approaches Jade with a sly grin.

“C’mon, man,” Jade pleads as she pulls on her halter-top. “I gave you the money back, now we’re out.” Jade looks anxiously toward the door and says, “C’mon, Happy, we gotta—” 

The butt of Ginny’s gun slams hard against Jade’s temple. Jade falls back onto the bed while a sharp pain drives straight through her skull, splitting her vision as she loses consciousness. Through blurry eyes, she watches helplessly as Jeb hobbles toward her with his towel falling to the floor and his hand moving down between his legs. She hears Ginny’s bellowing laughter as Jeb’s beefy hands rip her stockings and panties down her legs, and then completely off. Using his girth to press her down into the bare yellow-stained mattress, he tugs at her bra, which finally gives way after the straps dig hard into her flesh. Barely conscious and unable to defend herself with the pain rocking her skull, Jade closes her eyes while Jeb’s sweaty flab slides up her torso until she can feel his hard member poking between her thighs to find an entry point. The buzz in her head grows quieter as she fades in and out of consciousness. Even Ginny’s shrill laughter seems far away now. As her eyes flicker and the blackness envelops her, all she can hear is Jeb’s heavy breathing in her ear as he finally forces himself inside. 

But Jade is jolted back into the light by the sound of the front door being kicked open. 

Happyboy rocks back and forth on his feet with his eyes closed and fresh vomit dripping down his chin while Ginny holds the gun inches from his head. He’s shaken from his trance by the loud footfalls behind them. When Ginny turns around toward the bedroom door, Happyboy sprints toward the bed with his arms raised and hands out, crashing into Jeb’s side and pushing him off of Jade onto the floor. He turns around when he hears the gunshot. Ginny is splayed across the floor with blood flowing from a fresh bullet wound in her chest. He looks up at what – actually who – stands just outside the bedroom door.

Liam.

***

Ignoring Jade and Happyboy, Liam walks calmly across the room with his gun pointed at Jeb, who’s now scrambling desperately across the floor to grab his towel. “Cash!” Liam screams at him. “Every fuckin’ penny!”

“All’s we got is what she gave my wife,” Jeb says to Liam in a shaky voice. They both look over at Ginny, now lying dead on her back with vacant eyes staring out into nowhere.

Liam looks back at Jade and nods over toward Ginny. “Get the money off that bitch and search the rest of this shithole. Take whatever you find.” He turns back to Jeb and, with his black leather steel-toed boot, delivers a sharp kick straight into Jeb’s ribs. 

Fighting the pain from Liam’s kick, Jeb wheezes out, “I swear that’s all we got, man. I mean look around – we look like we got cash stowed away?”

Jade grabs Liam’s arm before he can answer. “C’mon Liam. Cops’ll be here soon. Neighbors musta heard the gunshot.”

Liam hesitates, then nods at her. He looks over at Happyboy impatiently. “Let’s go, boyo, gotta bounce.” Then he turns to Jeb, who’s cowering against the wall with his head in his hands. “Towel!” Liam shouts.

“What?” asks Jebs.

“I said gimme that fuckin’ towel!” 

Jeb takes off his towel and hands it over to Liam with a scared, confused look on his face.

Liam carefully folds the towel into a square, then places it atop Jeb’s sweat-dampened head. He holds it there firmly and looks back at Happyboy with a smile while using his other hand to press the muzzle of his gun against the towel. 

Happyboy turns around to take Jade’s outstretched hand, barely blinking at the sound of the muffled gunshot behind him.

***

AC/DC’s “Back in Black” blasts from Liam’s car stereo while he and Jade pass a joint between them. When it’s snuffed out, Liam cracks open a Keystone Light from a six-pack on the floor and raises it toward Jade. “Cheers, babe,” he laughs before raising it to his lips.

Jade smiles at him, grabs the beer from his hand and chugs it down in one gulp, followed by a loud belch.

“Wow!” Liam exclaims in awe. “This girl likes her drink!”

In the backseat, Happyboy lies on his side, staring blankly at the back of Liam’s dirty cloth seat. “Jade, please, I’m so hungry,” he whimpers. He bites down on his knuckle to distract himself. 

“Here ya’ go, big boy,” Liam says casually while tossing a plastic-wrapped half baloney & cheese sandwich over his shoulder onto the backseat. 

Happyboy tears off the wrapper and downs the sandwich in two large bites. “I’m still hungry,” Happyboy whines. “Can’t we just go to Golden Corral?” He turns over on his seat and faces the backrest.

Jade looks over at Liam with pleading eyes. “C’mon Li, it should be fine. I told him earlier we could go after this one.” She places a hand on Liam’s thigh.

Liam pats her hand. “Let’s just see how this one goes. Should be gettin’ two bills from these fuckers. Maybe you can work him for another fifty or so an’ then we can go after.” He tokes the joint, then adds, “If not, I got plenty ’a food the fat little bastard can eat back in the apartment.” Liam takes a long pull from his beer. “An’ he don’ need t’eat every goddam minute of the day, else he’s gonna fuckin’ explode.”

Jade looks back at Happyboy, who’s turned around with his face buried in the backrest of the seat. She smiles then turns back around and grabs the smoldering joint from Liam’s hand. She takes the last hit as he pulls into the cracked old parking lot of the apartment complex. Staring at the dark, drab brick apartment building in front of her, lit only by a small sliver of moonlight, Jade sighs and asks, “How much longer, Li?”

Looking over at her with empty eyes, Liam replies, “When I say so.”

“But what about Happy? He’s just—”

“Not now, Jade. I – we – need the fuckin’ money.”

Liam takes the joint from Jade and presses it out in his ashtray. Looking at her for a long moment, he asks, “Good to go?”

Jade exhales softly, then quietly nods back to him.

Liam nods. “Room 214, second floor. Dude’s name is Jeb.”

****

Eyes closed, Happyboy looks deep into the black void. Like he always does to ignore the hunger screaming out from his stomach and consuming his body. He pinches his eyes tight and smiles, relieved when the colored rays break through the void. This part always relaxes him. But he’s never seen this one before. Maybe it’s a new one just waiting to escape into the light.

Happyboy can hear the sizzling bacon from the kitchen. And that smell. That delicious smell of frying bacon that fills his nostrils and expels every competing odor, every other sense. And possesses him.

Happyboy knows what that smell means: that momma is close by. She’s in the kitchen with her apron and spatula, just cookin’ quietly and hummin’ along. Maybe even signin’? Momma loved to sing. Happyboy walks into the kitchen and momma turns around with a smile. She plants a soft warm kiss on his forehead and tussles his hair. “Look what I made for you, baby boy,” she says while pointing over at a full plate on the kitchen table. A heap of scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon and sausage links sit invitingly next to a smaller plate of thick buttered toast. 

Between mouthfuls, Happyboy looks up at momma excitedly. “Can we get ice cream later? Jade said—”

“Well now … daddy may need the truck today, but if not then maybe—” 

Before momma can finish, Happyboy jumps out of his chair and races towards the stairwell. “I’m gonna ask Jade so maybe she can ask daddy to take us!”

“Happyboy, no!” momma yells after him. “Don’t go up there! C’mon back down here!”

But it’s too late. Happyboy bounds up the stairs as fast as he can, using his hands to propel him up the stairs in front of him. Breathless when he reaches Jade’s bedroom door, Happyboy is too excited to hear the steady grunts on the other side. He turns the doorknob and throws the door open but then stops. His face goes slack when he looks over toward the bed.

“Happy!” Jade screams at him. But a meaty hand slides over her mouth as her head is forced violently into the pillow beneath her. Her eyes fill with tears as she struggles to breathe. Happy looks behind her and his legs give out. There he is. Mounted behind Jade. Thick tattooed forearms pinning her down while his hips thrust violently atop her.

Daddy.

***

“The fuck is wrong with you?” asks Liam as he pushes Happyboy into the back seat of the Civic. On the passenger side, Jade leans shaking against the door, quiet sobs escaping her mouth from somewhere much deeper. “Get the fuck in the car, Jade!” Liam shouts while looking wildly around the parking lot. “We gotta get the fuck outta here! Like now! Pronto!”

Jade doesn’t move. She’s staring through the rear window at Happyboy, whose face is pressed against the glass looking anxiously back at Jade. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she repeats over and over, only stopping when Liam grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks the car door wide open. 

“Goddammit I fuckin’ told you we gotta get the fuck out—” Liam stops short when he feels the gun being pulled from the rear waistband of his jeans. He lets go of Jade and spins around. But before he completes his pivot, the butt of the gun crashes into his face and he falls backward, tripping over Jade’s foot onto the cold black pavement of the parking lot. Staring up in shock with one hand pressed against his shattered eye socket, Liam murmurs painfully, “Why you fat little fuckin’ bas—”

Liam stops when the first bullet pierces his jugular. Happyboy’s kick strikes him beneath the jaw and drives his head back into the pavement. Blood spurts through Liam’s fingers that are grasping at his throat.

Wasting no time, Jade grabs Liam’s keys from his pocket and hurries around to the driver-side door while Happyboy hops into the passenger seat. His door slams shut as the Civic peels out of the parking lot. 

“What we gonna do now?” Happyboy asks Jade when they’re out on the road. 

Keeping her eyes fixed in front of her, Jade shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. We’ll figure it out, baby.” She pauses, then adds, “We always do.”

After a long silence, Jade looks over at Happyboy with a comforting smile. “Still hungry, baby? Golden Corral might still be open.”

“That’s okay,” Happyboy replies, placing his hand protectively over Jade’s. “I’m good ‘til breakfast.”

Stickball Promiscuous and the Matrimonial Miscommunication

Stickball Promiscuous, the retired broomsquire, was aghast when, shortly after he’d joined her with bawdy intentions in the hay-stuffed sackcloth that passed for their conjugal bed, his wife and helpmate Hoggesflesh informed him that his penis was crummy.

“You’re not exactly in the bloom of youth yourself!” the former twig-tyer cried. “Believe me, there are things I could say about your vagina. For example, I could compare it to an empty bag of potato chips, or a worn-out baseball mitt, or for that matter, a dusty sarcophagus, or an old rusted out pipe, or a piece of lasagna left out overnight on the kitchen counter during dry weather, or even a thrift shop penny loafer. In fact, the only thing stopping me from making such comparisons is the fear of what could happen to me, socially speaking, if I did and you subsequently posted about it on the internet. For one thing, Shlomo the cobbler would almost surely be prohibited by his wife from ever inviting me over again for brandy and stimulating conversation about the relative merits of realism versus nominalism, and for another, I highly doubt Eanflæd the garment weaver would be willing to sell me a new undertunic at the upcoming market day, which would be bad news indeed considering my current one reminds me more and more every time I catch a passing whiff of it of the back end of a dyspeptic hognose.”

“My dear,” came Hoggesflesh’s reply, “I’m afraid you’ve got me all wrong. I didn’t say your penis was crummy – I said it was crumby.”

And in all fairness to Hoggesflesh, considering that Stickball had spent the entire afternoon naked below the waist eating croissants and Cadbury Flakes, it probably was.

Daydream

After her shower, Francesca stood naked at her bedroom window, fingering her cunt, the late afternoon sun showing the dirty streaks in the glass. Next door in the yard below, Khalid, her neighbour’s hunky teenaged son, was throwing a football around with a couple of his friends. Watching Khalid, Francesca panted as she gently pinched her nipples. His young body moved fast, hard, powerfully, the sun glinting off his sweaty chest, for he had taken off his t-shirt. She found herself imagining what it’d be like to run her fingers through his thick, curly black hair, to feel his hard biceps, to spread her legs for his even harder, relentless cock. Her heart beat fast, she began rubbing her clit roughly, almost falling over as currents of joy rushed through her body and her mind wandered into dangerous but exhilarating territory.

Khalid didn’t how his neighbour lusted after him, and had been lusting since he moved in with his widowed father a few months ago. His naivety and innocence, if naive and innocent a college-aged, Arab boy could be, intensified her longings, slightly tinged with guilt. She knew she should resist temptation and keep her distance, but the allure of his youthful vigour was irresistible. Gasping as she fucked herself, her daydream about Khalid deepened, her fantasies so explicit and all-consuming that she could almost feel his cock thrusting into her, his hands twisting her nipples, making her cry out in pain and pleasure. Oh, the pleasure. Hurt me, please, she begged in her mind, her body edging towards a climax. 

If she ever approached the boy with lust in her eyes, she’d risk embarrassing rejection, then again, maybe not. Like any virile adolescent, surely Khalid would eagerly fuck at the first opportunity. And weren’t Arabs supposed to be lusty? She had read many erotic fantasies and watched porn flics online about Sheiks, their harems and sex slaves. She also remembered her university film course where the students and professor had discussed the sexual implications of the silent movie The Sheik with the smouldering actor Valentino. She had to have Khalid, she had to kneel before his majestic cock, she had to swallow him whole, her Arab stallion. 

Francesca’s heart pumped faster. Her fingers pinched her swollen clit as she imagined Khalid’s hands gripping her, probing, fingers slick from her wetness. His cock rose like a sabre, the force of it cutting into her flesh as he raised her legs around his waist, all in front of the window. And she also fancied that his father might see. His voice, deep and commanding in her ear: You’re a cock whore, Francesca, a needy slut begging for virile Arabs. And I’m going to give it to you, bitch. Was that Khalid speaking or his father speaking?

She nearly screamed, yes, yes, as she imagined him staring into her eyes and seeing her insatiable desire for him. His eyes were black with equal lust as he pushed his long and thick cock into her cunt.  And you’re gonna be my cocksucker, bitch, after I nut so much hot junk in your belly, it’ll flow out of your cunt for days. How much cum would he also shoot down her throat: great dollops of creamy, life-sustaining cum? Lost in her daydream, she scarcely noticed the other boys in the yard, for Khalid’s voice sounded as if he was right there in the room with her, speaking as he fucked her: little cum hungry pig who’s going to take my cock like a good slave. 

Francesca’s body trembled with intense and electrifying desire, so receptive and ready for Arab cock: oh Khalid, oh Khalid, fuck me, fuck me, she whispered aloud as if he was actually in the room with her.  Be my master, she cried out, enslave me, whip me, chain me, do whatever you want, as if she could shout out through the window and the boy would hear her pleas, drop the football and rush into the house to fuck her senseless, to fuck the woman next door, just to fuck her until she fainted.

Open your mouth for me, Francesca, Khalid commanded. She was so startled she withdrew her hand from her cunt. Was he in the room? Was his father also in the room? Parting her lips, seeing the boy still outside, she imagined Khalid forcing his horse cock into her mouth and down her throat, filling it, past the gag reflex, and she began working it, sucking it, craving it, as if she could actually taste his precum and feel the veins pulsing as he thrust in and out. Delicious obscenities roared out of his mouth: you fucking piece of meat, you trashy cum bucket, you wasted cock sucking whore, and her mind flamed alive to hear them.

Her nipples, hard and aching, from his rough handling, he slipped out of her mouth, slapped her face, then rammed into her soaking cunt. Was it real? It couldn’t be, for there was Khalid, her Arab stallion, still outside throwing a football. But his hands seemed to be clasped around her neck as if strangling her into submission, securing her as he jackhammered her cunt. Were they his fingers or hers pinching her clit, causing her to hold her breath and nearly collapse, crying in ecstasy? Oh, Khalid, my Khalid, my Sheik. Good bitch, she thought she heard the boy’s voice murmur, suddenly tender.  You need to feed off my huge Arab dick, don’t you, slave? Turn around, bitch, Khalid commanded, his voice firm. Or was it his father? I want to fuck your ass.

Francesca complied, and braced herself against the window. Hands grabbed her hips, his fingers dug into her thighs, a thick cock forced it ways between her ass cheeks. The father’s, the son’s, did it matter? She screamed from imaginary pain when a crack against the window startled her, and she instantly withdrew her own hand from her sopping cunt.

“What the …?!!!?

The ball had hit the window. A cracked rivered across the glass. Below Khalid and the other boys pointed, and shouted at each other. Abruptly ripped out of her fantasy, dizzy and unsteady, Francesca inserted a finger in her mouth and sucked, relishing her own flavour. Big bellied and bearded, hefty and appealing in his traditional robe, his father appeared in the yard and pointed at her window, as if to assess the damage, as if he knew she was standing there. As if both son and father sensed her desires. Oh, may it be so, she whispered. It was time to get to know her neighbours better.

Geronimo’s Mona Lisa

“I have in my possession a rather substantial check, as a retainer and down payment on your art. Would you care to take a look at it?” Lucy asked. She handed Nicky a check for $1,000,000. He looked at the amount and counted the zeros twice, his hands shook slightly as he had Theresa check the amount. All three of them were smiling at each other. “Would you care to accompany me, so I can lay out the details of the transaction? We’ll need to make some phone calls also,” she explained.

Nicky kissed Theresa goodbye. “Just who exactly, do you represent?” he asked. “A man, you met in the mountains that liked your paintings. You know him as the herb man. We’ve done some checking on your background and like what we see. We even have your paintings at Jack’s reserved.” “You certainly move fast,” commented Nicky. “When Mr. Sandoval sees something he likes, he doesn’t hesitate to pursue it. Do you have any more finished work?” she asked. “Yes, at friend’s in Gilman Canyon.”

Buffalo’s van was missing from where he parked it, so the police trouble must have not amounted to much. Nicky said they could retrieve his work from Buffalo’s and Jeanie’s. He wanted to say goodbye to his friends anyway. Passing a group of trees, they noticed a man pissing. He shook his dick at Lucy and grinned. She pulled a pistol from her purse and aimed it. “Hey, you little no dick motherfucker, I could blow that rat turd clean off, but it would be a waste of a good bullet,” Lucy said pretty as you please. Nicky laughed his ass off, as the man ran like hell. “A pistol packing mama, I am impressed,” Nicky exclaimed.

“You’re a valuable persona now. My boss wants to get your name established with a major New York art gallery. Then perhaps send your paintings on an international tour. You will become very rich and sought after by all the major collectors in the art world. They got into her sedan and Nicky directed Lucy to Jeanie’s first. He got his work and art supplies from there and they drove to Buffalo’s. A blue Lincoln sat in the driveway, behind Buffalo’s van. Guitars and some type of wind instrument could be heard from out back. Buffalo was playing with a dark-haired beauty. She was blowing into a rondador from the Andes. Her notes had a serene and at the same time furious quality. They stopped long enough for introductions. Lucy said, “Please, don’t let us interrupt you.” Sky was her name, quills of porcupine decorated her blue black hair. Her deep blue eyes shimmered in the morning sun. She played oblivious to Nicky or Lucy, when the song finished, her face took on aspects of a French vineyard and an Apache war maiden.

Nicky finally felt love at first sight, it blossomed in his heart and attempted to overwhelm him. They strolled down to the stream, arm in arm. A golden eagle circled three times and landed in a nearby Joshua tree. Sky kissed him hard, he felt her tongue dart inside his mouth. “You are the chosen one,” Sky said. “You must go with me to the desert, where my ancestors once lived.” “Another lady, told me the same thing this morning and gave me more money than I ever dreamed of,” replied Nicky. “Money is only paper. I offer you an eternity in paradise,” she answered. They returned to the house. Lucy protested Nicky leaving. “Why don’t you hang on to this check, until I get back,” he said. Buffalo calmed Lucy’s fears somewhat, by pulling her onto his lap.

Of all the women Nicky had known, Sky was by far the most enchanting and mysterious. She removed her shoes, jeans, and panties, explaining she wanted Nicky in the proper state of arousal, when they arrived at their destination. The road led down out of the mountains, but Nicky hardly noticed, he had a one-track mind. “The place I am taking you is sacred ground. Geronimo would bring his warriors here to rest and heal themselves, after raiding into Mexico. We will eat peyote and you will have what you seek,” she said. Nicky kept thinking Geronimo’s Mona Lisa. He painted Sky in his mind. Her skin was flowing honey, melon-shaped breasts, a flat stomach, and a waterfall of cascading hair on her shoulders. An enigmatic smile suggested any wish would be fulfilled.

The dirt brown hills seemed to vibrate with a life of their own. The sand was warm and inviting. The peyote buttons crawled like fuzzy green caterpillars down Nicky’s throat, threatening to choke him. Sky handed him tequila to wash them down. Nicky had never felt like this before. They undressed each other, feeling the rush and surge of the drug-enhanced lust. Kissing his way down her body, he reached her pubic triangle. He marveled at the blackness, it was so completely dark, it was void of color. The closer Nicky remained to Sky’s pussy, the stronger became the force drawing him inside. It was a gentle soothing suction at first, but then he felt his tongue being pulled out of his face. The suction grew intense. He was slowly being swallowed, steadily disappearing inside her pussy. His entire head was inside her and he couldn’t breathe. Then he felt his body spinning, uncontrollably, until he was gone completely.

The whirlpool of life reclaimed him. Vanished and vanquished, Nicky was no more.

Librarian Poontang

They got into Buffalo’s beat up old van and headed for Jemez Springs. “You should see this road in spring, covered with tarantulas marching down the road, warming their hairy bodies on the hot asphalt,” Buffalo said. “No shit? I’d like to see that.” “Yea, those motherfuckers sure crunch under your tires. They can really jump too.” They drove slowly, Buffalo giving Nicky a short history of the mountains and their previous inhabitants. “This entire area was once covered by an ocean and a multitude of coral and sea creatures. After the ocean receded, it left behind all its fossils embedded in the mountain walls. Many fossil hunters do research in the Jemez. It draws people from all over the world.”

“Tomorrow’s a big night, we shut off the water to the irrigation ditch. Cutthroat trout and bass flopping in the mud, ready to jump on the grill. I invited some Canadian women, that are total babes. This will be party time at its finest.,” Buffalo continued. “What do you call last night?” Nicky asked. “That was just an average night, amigo. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

They wound their way down the canyon, past the faded red barn, across the shallow river onto the highway. It was a steep climb up the mountain, the scenery was spectacular. Everywhere Nicky looked was a scenic dreamscape and a background for his nudes. Buffalo drove around a bend, a police car pulled up behind them with flashing red lights. He slowed down and pulled over at the next wide place in the road. Buffalo swallowed two joints and warned Nicky it was probably about the stolen steer. The police took Buffalo back to the canyon to proceed with a search warrant. Nicky drove the van on into Jemez Springs. “I’ll catch up with you later. If you have to split, just leave the keys under the floor mat,” Buffalo winked at Nicky.

Seeing the library, Nicky pulled in. It was too early for beer, besides he wanted to check out some art history questions, he had. The librarian looked exceptionally fine. She was a bookwormish looking woman, about what you’d expect in a small village library. Her hair had a few strands of gray and her glasses gave her a studious appeal. Nicky smiled as he asked her about books on French Impressionism. She directed him to a small secluded area, where the books were. It was unusually quiet, he could hear a clock ticking on the wall. There was no one besides himself and the librarian in the building. The books he wanted were on the top shelves and out of reach. At the end of the aisle was a ladder with wheels connected to a rail, along the top of the bookcase. A sign on the wall read, For Librarian’s Use Only.

Nicky walked back to the desk to ask for assistance. The librarian was turned away from the counter, working bent over a stack of books. He checked out her figure. She was built like a brick shit house, her butt was perfect. He cleared his throat to get her attention. “Excuse me, Miss, I need you,” he said. She turned and raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “There’s a book I can’t reach,” Nicky explained. She followed him without a word, back to the aisle in question. He pointed to the books he required. She slid the ladder down the rail and brushed against Nicky, as she started up the ladder. She had long smooth legs, ending in black lacy panties. As she started back down, he ran his hand up the back of her thigh and rubbed her wet pussy, inserting a finger. She stopped above him on the last rung of the ladder and made a low purring cat-like sound in the back of her throat. He cupped both cheeks of her ass in both hands, then rolled her panties down off one leg. He lifted her skirt and put his tongue inside her vagina, as she hunched him like there was no tomorrow. “Not here, please, please, please, goddamn you,” she moaned. But she kept pulling Nicky’s face into her drenched feverish pussy.

Nicky dropped his pants and lowered her down off the ladder onto his throbbing erection. He impaled her and thrust for all he was worth. She was like an inferno, her hair had come undone and grew wilder by the second. Books and shelves rattled into a frenzied rhythm. So far, they hadn’t been discovered. The librarian’s eyes glazed over in pleasure and passion, but there was also a hint of terror. Nicky locked this face in his memory for a painting and finished her off. They fixed their clothes and he borrowed several books.

He headed over to the local watering hole, nothing like a cold beer after knocking off some smoking hot poontang. Nicky grabbed a stool and ordered a bottle of Coors. A couple of lumberjack types were eating some goulash looking stuff, mopping it up with flour tortillas. “What’s that they’re eating?” he asked the barkeep. “Green chile stew, you want to try some?“ Nicky was about to order, when he gazed into the mirror, behind the bar. Theresa Gonzales had stepped up behind him and her reflection was smiling at his. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” she remarked. “Eat that stuff,” she replied. “Come with me, I’ll make you some real Mexican food.” Nicky ordered a case of Coors. “For your father,” he smiled.

The house was clean and dazzling white. Shade trees cooled the terrazzo tile floors. The river could be heard from the thick adobe windows. Theresa said, “My father lives in the old servant’s quarters. He likes some independence that way.” She handed him a beer, he stepped close and grabbed her hand. Nicky didn’t want to rush her, but he wanted her to know he was there for more than a meal. “I’ll be right back,” she said, disengaging herself from Nicky. She took her father some beer and returned. Her demeanor was thoughtful, she examined the books Nicky had with him and stared into his eyes. He put both arms around her and at first she pulled away from him, with a frightened look in the bottomless fathoms of her eyes. She realized she was getting into something way beyond her control, where animalistic instincts took precedence.

He kissed her deep and long. Her legs got weak and he carried her to the couch. Kissing her face and throat, he undressed her slowly, kissing each part of her body as it became exposed. Her body quivered and trembled in ecstasy, it was sheer heaven. Nicky started at her sensitive inner thighs, working ever higher. When he came to her mound of love and sank his tongue in, she had her first orgasm. Theresa tossed her head from left to right, as she climaxed time after time. He pulled his tongue out, as he took off his clothes. She stared at his body with naked unabashed lust. She hissed, “Don’t stop, don’t you ever stop.” Nicky plunged two fingers, deep inside her and finished undressing with one hand.  He lowered himself inside her, ever so gently. She protested, saying she wanted him all and rammed her fingers up his asshole.

He sucked her nipples until they were harder than cherry pits. He gave her an inch, then pulled out, almost withdrawing completely. Nicky wanted to cock tease her into a frenzy, he put all his skill and knowledge to work, letting her have an inch, then two, then out, then four, then a taste of all eight, then nothing. Theresa was on fire, biting the stuffing out of a pillow, screaming. Finally she could take no more, she dug her fingernails into his ass cheeks, raking his backside with her talons as he bucked and rode. Nicky reached beneath her and spread her ass, shoving his thumb up her tight little anus. She screamed in high soprano, while he tried to cover her mouth, afraid her father would come to investigate.

They reached their final peak together. As they came, they fell from the couch, her on top. Nicky looked up into the most beautiful hazelnut eyes he had ever seen. He knew this woman was way overdue for a good hard fuck. They showered together, soaping each other and getting off one more time. “I’ll bet you’re hungry?” Theresa asked. Theresa’s enchiladas were delicious, the smell and taste beyond description. Afterward she took him to a hot springs pool next to the river. The water was damn near boiling. They used a bucket on a long rope to retrieve cold water from the river. The mixture had to be just right or you could get scalded. After fixing the water temperature, they lay back in the water and gazed up at the early evening stars. Watching comets, zinging across the Milky Way. The next morning, a loud woodpecker rap awoke them. Theresa opened the door to find a redheaded woman in a well-cut gray suit. Polka dot high heels completed her outfit. She was carrying a leather briefcase and looking extremely auspicious.

“I’m looking for the painter, called Nicky,” she announced. “I am he,” Nicky said, stepping around Theresa. “Lucy Barnes,” she said, extending her hand. “I represent a compendium of art collectors. They have become acquainted with your work and would like to launch your career.” Nicky wondered what planet she came from, and if the folks interested in his paintings also wanted to smack him over the head with a bottle of champagne.

***

Up next:

Catfish McDaris

Mojo Meets Hendrix

The house stood across the road from a huge maroon magenta boulder shaped like the head of a buffalo, minus one horn. Crimson ristras hung from viga roof beams, along with what was obviously tall upside down marijuana plants. An outhouse with a half moon carved in the door stood in the distance. Prickly pear with ripening fruit took the place of a manicured lawn. The house was quiet, so Jeanie led Nicky around back. An irrigation ditch separated the sloping hill from the damned stream at the beginning of the canyon. A small log bridge spanned the ditch and a tall chicken wire fence kept out most of the rabbits and marauding raccoons. Mojo was soaking in a big lion footed bathtub, her sleek black body contrasting with the pale whiteness of the tub. Buffalo sat strumming his instrument and writing in a spiral notebook, working on a new song. Corncob was arguing with Mojo.

“I tell you I met Hendrix once,” she exclaimed. “You’re full of shit. The closest you ever came to Jimi Hendrix was shoplifting Electric Lady Land from Kmart.” “I’m telling you, I was his foxy lady.” “In your dreams, Mojo,” the dude called Corncob, replied. Nicky enjoyed their banter. The black lady looked like an ebony warrior, completely uninhibited by her nakedness. “Do you mind if I draw you,” he asked. 

“Be my guest. Buffalo said you were very talented, but I’d like to find out for myself,” she winked at him flirtatiously. Corncob sent up little clouds of smoke. Buffalo broke out the scotch and built a fire inside a ring of rocks. “We’re having meat tonight and plenty of it. Remember when the Indians used to stampede the buffalo over a cliff? We won’t have that much meat, but no one will walk away hungry,” he proclaimed. An asshole up the mountain hadn’t paid him for several loads of firewood and to make matters worse, laughed in his face when he tried to collect. “I waited for a few weeks, to let this guy get square with me, but he had no intention of settling his bill. So I took my amigos deer rifle and blasted one of his prime corn fed steers. We butchered the carcass and put it in a freezer, down the canyon. I think its best if we eat the evidence tonight, then there is not much the authorities can do about it.” They spitted, grilled, and pit barbequed more meat, than Nicky had ever seen. Laying chilies and garlic cloves among the steaks, the aroma was mouth watering. Neighbors from all up and down the canyon came, bringing wine and weed. They sang and ate and fell in love and fell out of love. Jeanie and Nicky went back to her house for a siesta of romance. When they returned, she had her guitar and he brought his sketch pad. Nicky drew Mojo sitting in a silk kimono robe, openly revealing herself as she toked on a bong, the smoke enveloping her Afro style hair. Mojo had a massive amount of pubic hair, her bush looked like one of those that attacked and killed werewolves in the deepest darkest jungle. Buffalo made a joke about her gorilla looking snatch. “If you flashed that motherfucker in the zoo, there would damn sure be an escape.”  

“You know you’re always begging for more,” she grinned. They all ate and drank and smoked weed and fucked and ate more. Nicky danced to the mountain home grown music. The stars came out and chased each other across the galaxy. Guitars and voices called down the angels. Finally they all went skinny dipping and there was a lot of grabassing and horse play.

Nicky didn’t remember how the night ended, but he awoke nuzzling his face between two chocolate peaks. Mojo’s delicious titties were like two towering Hershey kisses, he sucked each nipple, smacking his lips. Then decided she needed an African queen motorboat fuck between those gigantic black hooters. Nicky worked his hard dick up between her tits, resting his nuts on her soft stomach. He was rubbing, as Mojo’s cat like tongue flicked out like a snake and massaged the delicate head of his pride and joy. Nicky reached behind him for her clitoris, it was standing up and waiting for attention. They switched ends and went into a fast and furious sixty nine routine. That lasted a short while, until Mojo whispered, “ I need you now, white boy, right now, right fucking now.” Nicky kept up and stayed aboard, which was a miracle. When they stopped, Mojo seemed like she was in a trance.

When they finished they snuggled together and looked around. Jeanie was mounted on Corncob, fucking like there was no tomorrow, her head thrown back weaving from side to side, as he thrust up into her. Buffalo was pumping Cindy, a banjo player from behind, doggie style, while he ate the pussy of another lady. They were quite acrobatic in their ballet of sex. What an orgy. The party finally ended, Mojo and Corncob had to return to Albuquerque. Jeanie had to get home to see about the store. She invited Nicky along, but Buffalo insisted he hang out with him. He said they could catch up with Jeanie later.

***

Up next:

Catfish McDaris

That Cunt Can’t Sing

Jeanie wheeled her pickup expertly down the snake-twisting road.  Jeff Beck played from the eight track tape deck. Her sons hadn’t budged from their makeshift bed. They were probably used to tagging along with mom on her gigs. When Nicky climbed into the truck, she’d given him a peck on the cheek. That was all the body contact they had so far. He found it rather refreshing for a change. He knew she was no airhead, this woman was in a class all of her own. “What do you paint?” she asked. “Women, mostly in various states of undress and arousal,” answered Nicky. “Sounds interesting, have you been to Spence Springs yet?” Jeanie asked. “No, not yet,” he replied. “Maybe we can go together?” “I would like that,” Nicky said. She changed the tapes to The Ballad of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid by Bob Dylan. He whined, “There are guns across the river, aiming at you. Billy, they don’t like you to be so free.” It was an appropriate tune for a special New Mexican night.

“What do you do in Gilman Canyon?” “I help run a small store, garden, play music, and raise my boys. I make a little cash playing small gigs around the mountains and when a forest fire breaks out, I go help put it out. Sometimes I cut firewood and Christmas trees, with my neighbor, Buffalo. If times get desperate, we go to the desert and borrow cacti, to sell to landscapers and make fake arrowheads. I also grow a few herbs.” “I like a woman of many talents,” replied Nicky. “You’ve seen nothing yet,” she laughed. They drove down the road, through Jemez Springs. Nicky thought of the Mexican beauty, as they passed her house. Jeanie continued on for about five miles, and then turned west, crossing a small wooden bridge. The Jemez River ran dark and cold over the round rocks, leaving it behind.

They entered a canyon. Nicky could see a barn that had once been painted red, almost lying on the road. Cattle, horses, mule, deer, and elk were spotlighted by the truck’s lights, eyes staring back, waiting, innocent in the starlit night among the small adobe ranchos. The Rio de las Vacas could be heard splashing along the west side of the canyon. The sun inched above the eastern rim, exposing the cliff walls of multicolored strata. Copper, gold, red magenta, opaque quartz layered irregular stone crumbled into the water. An ancient rusted Coca Cola sign, with a faded name, Gilman, marked Jeanie’s house. She rented from an old lady named Quintana, which owned the land from a Spanish land grant, which supposedly dated back to Cortez. Jeanie helped with the store. It had no set hours. A cowbell on a rope was rung by customer’s requiring service.

Nicky helped Jeanie carry her two sons into the house. They tucked them into bed. Jeanie started a fire in the fireplace, to warm the front room. They were both exhausted, they settled on the couch and soon fell asleep in each other’s arms. 

He dreamed Jeanie was playing guitar in a small tavern. The crowd thinned out, as the night wore on. She played two sets and started her last around midnight. Two loud-mouthed Chicano dudes had been making stupid remarks, the more they drank, the louder and ruder they became. Jeanie continued to play, but finally they got so obnoxious, she stopped. “That cunt can’t sing,” one of them said. “She could wrap her lips around my chorizo and make better music,” the other replied. “She could fuck us both and sing at the same.” “I bet she has a big loose pussy, like her mouth.” 

Nicky was a lover, not a fighter, but sometimes there was no choice. The bigger Mexican finally had enough liquid courage to do something about all his bold bullshit talk. He started staggering toward the stage. Nicky got up and intercepted the drunk. He jumped four times from the balls of his feet to his toes, to get his adrenaline flowing. He slapped the drunk, to turn his attention away from Jeanie. Reaching down to the floor, he brought up a Spanish Harlem haymaker that just about took the punk’s head clean off. His amigo started for the door, but Nicky was on him, like a Tasmanian devil doing a dervish dance. They would both be lucky to be fully functioning for quite some time.  He awoke to a set of warm expert lips coaxing him awake. Jeanie had her hair down, flowing over his thighs and stomach. Her perfect pear-like breasts massaged his body.  She almost brought him to climax, but eased off, teasing and licking and sucking, then prolonging the pleasure. Finally she lowered herself down on Nicky, incredibly slowing down and speeding up at the most crucial moments. Nicky had never encountered a woman with such muscle control and sexual prowess. Every other woman paled in comparison.

The morning light streamed in. As they heard the roosters crowing, they reached their simultaneous orgasm. Timmy and Joe attacked their mom, as Nicky made it into the bathroom. They were little hell raisers, to put it mildly. Jeanie stirred together a fire in her cast iron kitchen range. She got breakfast ready, as the boys got dressed for school. Nicky dressed and carried in some firewood. He stepped back outside to take a look around. The mountains were steep and awesome. Beyond the river was a hazy azure blue. The landscape was like the Sea of Tranquility. Ruby red oblong-shaped boulders marched down the canyon. Emerald green kaleidoscope juniper, yucca, and sage brush sprouted from the most unlikely fissures. No wonder so many great painters came to New Mexico, thought Nicky, the palette was infinite. Jeanie came outside to call him to breakfast. She could tell how much the canyon affected him, it usually had that magic. They ate huevos rancheros, she sure knew how to dish on the salsa. Taking the boys down to catch the yellow school bus, Jeanie made her way back to the house. Nicky offered to help her clean up, but she told him to go paint. Jeanie could sense his mood.

He got out his easel and canvas and set his studies against a rock. The canyon wall and background blended perfectly with his figures. The paintings came alive under his expertise, the canvas filled and overflowed with a strange life-giving force. A guitar could be heard from up the canyon. It was a country song, one he’d never heard before. The voice was alright, but the guitar work was excellent. Nicky heard a harmonica join in and he cocked an ear to keep listening, as he kept applying colors. A sweet jazz-like gospel voice took over, adding a verse to the song.

“Mojo, you could fuck up a wet dream,” he heard someone say in a New York accent and then crack up laughing. “If you countrified fuckers knew what music was, you’d need a ladder to climb to kiss my sweet molasses black ass,” the soul sister replied. This was more than Nicky could take, he went inside to inquire about the neighbors. “Oh you mean Buffalo,” Jeanie said. “He might have anyone with him. He’s from New York and he know musicians from all over the world.” “Do you ever play with him?” Nicky asked. “If you mean music, the answer is yes. Everyone in Gilman jams together, it’s the unwritten law,” replied Jeanie. “Will we meet him later?” “Sure, anytime you’re ready,” she replied. Nicky finished a couple of paintings and was putting the final touches on a third.

“Not bad, damn the ladies look so real, like they could step right down from the canvas and come alive,” he heard from the shadows. Nicky turned and saw a blonde, clean-shaven, almost baby-faced guy wearing a straw cowboy hat and smiling at him. The guy was shirtless, wearing cutoffs and huaraches and had an Ovation guitar slung across his back from a rainbow-colored strap. “You sure know how to paint naked women,” he said and extended his hand in friendship. “They call me Buffalo, I live up the road a piece.” “I heard your music and asked Jeanie about you, I’m Nicky,” he replied. “Don’t let me interrupt your painting,” Buffalo said. Jeanie brought them coffee. Buffalo played Starry Starry Night about Vincent van Gogh. He said it was the only song he knew about a painter. Jeanie got her guitar and they played for an hour, mostly old rock songs.

“I got to split. Bring Mr. Matisse Picasso down for a little get together this afternoon. I’ve got some twelve-day-old Scotch that came from a young horse near Glasgow, and I only rinsed my socks in it once,” Buffalo said. 

“You don’t own any socks,” Jeanie replied.

***

Up next:

Catfish McDaris

Mountain Oysters and Moses

The tavern was built log cabin style with mud and concrete chinked logs. The atmosphere was like a mad circus with a vast array of crazies. In the parking lot, as they drove up, a man was sitting on a big grayish buckskin horse. Another man rode up behind him on a gigantic black stallion. The horse kicked the first rider from the saddle, doing one of those Lone Ranger numbers. Out pops this three foot pink dick and the horse starts humping away at the mare. The rider of the stallion can’t get his foot loose from the stirrup, so he’s being thrashed and jerked up and down like a yoyo, as his horse knocks off a piece. The mare is whinnying in delight and the crowd is cheering them on.

A guy dressed like a mountain man was putting on a knife and tomahawk throwing demonstration on one side of the bar. He keeps trying to get a lady to hold a cigarette between her tits, so he can show off his undaunting prowess. Several lovely ladies are watching with drinks in hand. La Cueva was two pool tables, a long bar, a dance floor, and a blaring jukebox. A monstrous muskellunge smiled down from behind the bar, wearing human false teeth. A band was setting up their equipment. The drums read Mountain Oysters. Two men in cowboy hats were concentrating on a pool game. Three ladies in halter tops and short cutoffs were playing on the other table, shaking their shit as they cued up. Guys with long hair and beards leaned against the wall, waiting for the babes to finish. 

The band looked familiar, if you knew a bit about history. One resembled Harpo Marx with a Frank Zappa goatee. Another like Buddy Holly, complete with nerd glasses. The female singer looked like Cher with Dolly Parton floatation devices. The lead guitar player looked like Jim Morrison and the chicks were eyeballing him, big time. A biblical looking guy was at the end of the bar, chopping up lines of cocaine on a Harley Davidson advertising mirror. He had the Ten Commandments tattooed on his bulging bicep, but he didn’t appear to be the religious type. Several ladies were waiting with rolled up bills for a snort. “That’s Moses,” Vivian said. “He’s keeps things interesting.” The bartender was a red headed guy, with an Asian slant to his eyes. When he wasn’t serving drinks, he seemed to be scanning everywhere at once. He kept his arms folded and a blank look of meditation on his face. Moses supplied all that wanted, huge toots of Peruvian flake. He then started a game, with four women and a small group started gathering around. Bets were being made on the size of each chick’s nipples. “Now, let me get this straight, when you say nipple, do you mean just the stand at attention sticking up part? Or the entire dark area surrounding the cherry?” one guy asked.

“Anything that isn’t colored is titty. Anything that isn’t white is nipple. Okay?” replied Moses. The women were giggling and tossing back shots of Cuervo Gold. Money was piling up on the bar.  Nicky had his eye on a café au lait lady that didn’t really fit in the game. She stood back and watched from the shadows.

Moses lined up his measuring equipment. A dime, a quarter, a single shot, and a double shot glass, and a tumbler, these were to fit over the nipples of the contestants. The crowd seemed to favor the chick with the biggest tits, they were torpedo shaped. Two had tits like a Texas ruby grapefruits. The last one seemed rather flat chested and skinny in comparison, to the other three. Nicky knew all types of women, from his painting. He placed a bet for a hundred bucks at three to one odds, on the skinny chick, knowing her tits were all nipple. They all raised their shirts at the same time, none wore bras. The crowd hooted and yelled, as Moses made the measurements. Nicky won easily, big tits had cherry pits, the two grapefruit ladies had strawberries, but flat chest had ink blot monkey nipples. He collected his cash, after dropping a hundred for a round for the house and another hundred for the four ladies to split.

The crowd dispersed, as two guys went at it fist city style, over a pool game. Another guy tried to break it up, while a friend of one of the fighters broke a cue stick over the buttinski’s skull. The bar filled with a loud explosion and gun smoke, everything got real quiet, the sound of a pistol being cocked for a second shot could be heard. The bartender had a 357 magnum aimed at the slugger, holding the pool stick. “Any killing going to be done in my bar, I do it.” He kicked the guy in the nuts and kept kicking, until he was outside. Then made an icepack for the guy with the headache, then things got back to near normal.

Nicky walked his café cinnamon lady out to the back deck, overlooking the river. Several couples were smoking weed and making out. Across the river, cows and horses grazed in a verdant green pasture. “How would you like to go for the best mustache ride of your life?” he asked, while he stroked her flank. “Sounds good, because I plan to suck you until your nuts look like chick peas and your asshole is puckered like a prune,” she replied. Nicky got the keys to the camper and they had their sexual rendezvous. They took a bar of soap and went down to the river and washed each other. “Cock and pussy cleanliness is a must, even in the wilderness,” Nicky proclaimed. “I have to go sweet man. Can I see you again?” she asked. “Anytime, anywhere,” Nicky answered. He watched as a uniformed man opened the door of a long shiny limousine.

Nicky hit the cantina like a barracuda in a tank of goldfish. The dudes had no chance against the maximum chick magnet. He danced and pranced and joked and toked. Women were eating out of his hand. Slick laughed at his amigo, in top form.  The Mountain Oysters cranked out Smokestack Lightning by Buddy Holly, then took a smoke break. A young woman pulled a chair on stage and lowered two microphones. She unpacked an acoustic guitar and sat down. Her hair was parted in the middle and she wore wire rimmed glasses. She resembled John Lennon and an old fashioned no nonsense school marm. The first song was a Spanish flamenco instrumental, it started slowly and softly, but was soon a machine gun staccato of finger picking. By the time the song ended, her hair was loose and wild. The next song was a Little Feat truck driving ballad, her voice was full throated an unearthly. She took off her glasses, revealing ice blue eyes and lit a cigarette. Taking a couple of drags, she wedged the smoke between the strings of her instrument. She played Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, and several songs that she had written. Nicky bought her a tequila sunrise and placed it next to her chair. She smiled her thanks and finished her short set, then repacked her guitar to applause, as the Oysters took over. Nicky walked with her out to her pickup. She opened the door softly, to put her guitar inside. There was a pallet on the floor board, her two young sons were asleep there, huddled against each other. Jeanie was her name and Nicky knew then, he had to paint her. She invited him to Gilman Canyon, where she lived. He told her he was a painter.    

“Good, you can paint there,” Jeanie replied. She went back into the bar, to get paid. Nicky went looking for Slick and Vivian. “I’m going to Gilman Canyon with Jeanie and her sons, to paint. I need some canvas and paints. Can you mail Jack my stuff that’s finished? I’ll catch up with you in a few days, cool?” Nicky explained to Slick. “I’ll take care of Jack and I’ll see you in a week or so,” Slick replied. “Gilman Canyon is a very special place. There are two huge tunnels dynamited through sheer mountain cliffs. There are rare gardens and musicians and scientists and Indians and mad inventors all living in harmony. You are lucky someone extended you an invitation,” Vivian told them and smiled. They had a group hug, as Nicky loaded his painting supplies into Jeanie’s truck.

***

Up next:

Catfish McDaris