by Jack Ketchum
Not bad. He could use the belt without hurting her too too much. He looked at his ass in the bathroom mirror. Watched the red fade. The red faded quickly.
He was set. He was ready.
But then he had to wait. First she had her period. That passed. Then she got herself a sunburn and he had to wait some more. That faded. Then she came home one day and said she'd been to her gynecologist, she had a little disease, a little infection, nothing serious, not clap or anything but she was pretty itchy down there and they wouldn't be able to fuck for a while.
Shit.
At first Stroup was patient. He'd sit in bed at night with his hard-on and laugh to himself over the surprise he had in store for her—his secret. She hadn't noticed the masonry nail. He'd hidden the yarn. So one night he'd just pull it on her. He'd tie her up and she'd think she was getting it on the bed just like when the other guy gave it to her. Then he'd blindfold her. Then he'd stand her up and hang the yarn over the nail. She'd probably complain. Maybe not. Then he'd pull out his belt and smack her ass a little, tell her to spread 'em and give her a few on the insides of her thighs, turn her around and give her a good one across the tits. Now that would make her howl! Hell, yes! Then he'd throw her on the bed and bang the shit out of her.
That was how he imagined it.
But all this delay made him nervous. He sulked. He'd hardly talk to her. He felt somehow she knew his plans and was purposely screwing up her body in order to torment him. Period. Sunburn. Disease. Maybe there was no disease. How was he to know? It would be just like her to have found the yarn or the nail or the yarn and the nail and not tell him, put two and two together and then do all this stalling.
Even if the disease was real it wasn't fucking fair. He was ready, dammit! And she'd brought this on herself, you had to remember, she and her damned story, she and her miserable one-shot taped-up Cape May screwing. He figured that if he had to wait then he had to wait but then watch out, sister. And inevitably he would eye the nail totemic above the door whenever he walked into the bedroom.
Then one night after dinner she looked up at the doorway and pointed and said, Stroup, what the hell is that?
"A nail," he said.
"What's it for?"
"You over your disease yet?"
"Yeah."
"I'll show you."
Strip, he told her and she laughed and called him a horny old bastard, she seemed to forget about the answer to her question.
Which was good. They got down on the bed and he started to ball her and when he could feel her opening up to him he pulled out and got off her and went to his dresser. He took out the yarn.
"Pink," he said.
"I don't know, Stroup," she said.
"Yes you do."
"I might not be in the mood."
"You'll be in the mood. I'm in the mood. Put your hands out, dammit."
She smiled. "How forceful," she said.
"Horseshit."
He tied her hands together, left a loop to go over the masonry nail. Then he got the scarf. He tied it over her eyes.
"That's a nice touch," she said.
She was up for it, he could tell. Her smutty little mind was working her into a lather. This was gonna be fine. He stood her up. "Where we going?"
"You'll see. Right over here."
He lifted her arms, found the head of the nail with his fingertips and hooked her.
"Stroup!"
Suddenly she was worried now.
"It's okay. I won't hurt you, hon. Much."
He kissed her.
"Jesus Christ, Stroup."
"It's okay. Relax."
"What are you doing?"
He didn't answer. Instead he scooped his belt off the bedroom floor and let her have it, right across that soft white heavy ass.
"OWWWWWW! STROUP YOU FUCKING MANIAC, YOU CUT THAT OUT! You let me down, goddammit!"
"Not a chance. You love it, baby."
He whacked her again.
"STROUP, I SWEAR I'M GONNA GET YOU FOR THIS, STROUP, YOU SONOVABITCH! LET ME DOWN, GODDAMMIT! LET ME DOWN YOU COCKSUCKER!"
Cocksucker? Hell, thought Stroup, I could poleax her with this thing. It was big as a cucumber. This was a terrific idea. He was a fucking genius. This one's for the other guy, baby, he thought and whacked her again.
"Ahhh!"
And this one's for telling me about it.
"Owww! Damn you, Stroup! That's it, you hear me? That's enough!"
"Spread your legs."
"Are you kidding?"
"Spread your legs, tramp."
"UP YOUR ASS, STROUP!"
"Okay, let's turn you around, then."
"The hell you will."
"Turn around, dammit!"
"No!"
And this time when he hit her he damn well meant it. No fooling around this time, no sir. This whack was the real thing. Nothing erotic about it. He even felt his dick sag a bit. He was sagging and seething here.
Shit, he'd had it with her. He'd had a bellyful. It was always her way. Always her goddamn way. Their arrangement was all her sweet little idea in the first place. He was crazy to have given in to her. He always got the bad end, Stroup did, never got the goodies. The bitch. The whore. He'd like to beat the shit out of her. This time it was gonna work his way.
He hit her HARD.
She gasped, a choking sound in her throat.
"All right, Stroup! All right. You win. I'll turn around."
He stood there looking at her tits, those terrific tits of hers. Begging him to take his best shot.
But he didn't.
He suddenly didn't feel like it anymore.
He stood there feeling stupid. Trying to figure out what had happened. The tits had defeated him. They weren't as appealing whack-wise as they should have been. Now why the hell was that? Something wasn't right. Nothing was right. Not her, not him, not his life, jesus! not even fantasy. How was it supposed to have been? She was supposed to have liked it. Begged for more. Then he'd gone and lost his temper. He should never have lost his temper.
He'd soured everything.
Funny that it should be her giving in to him that pulled the wind out.
He was limp now. Funny.
"Forget it," he said. "It was a bad idea in the first place."
He reached over and pulled her off the nail. She removed the blindfold. He looked for tears in her eyes, anger. Something. He saw the eyes flicker for a moment but then there was nothing. Like she didn't care, like nothing had happened at all. She'd had her way again, he realized. Somehow she'd managed it. He could almost hate her.
Jesus.
"Hey look, you're down," she said. "You mean it didn't do a thing for you? I don't get it."
"At first."
"It did for me. Here, feel."
She was wet.
He'd be goddamned.
"You should have kept going."
He shrugged. "It's a lot of bullshit."
"It hurt but not too much. It made me hot, Stroup."
"You kept yelling."
"So?"
"I got mad."
"You shouldn't get mad."
"Yeah, right."
"Don't look so depressed."
"I'm not depressed."
"You know what? I got an idea. You should try it."
"Me? Nah."
"I'm telling you, it's pretty interesting up there."
"Is it?"
"Yeah, I bet you'd like it."
"Nah."
"You would. I know you would. C'mon. Let's do it, just a little."
"I don't think so."
"I wouldn't hurt you, I promise."
"Forget it, Shiela."
"I thought you'd try anything, Stroup."
"I said so, didn't I?"
"Well, then."
Women. You never could figure them. All that yelling and now she wants to play some more.
Maybe he ought to. He felt like shit. Probably somebody ought to smack him one anyhow. He deserved it,
losing his temper the way he did.
Another nice evening pissed away.
Stroup watched as she tied his hands together.
She didn't do too bad a job for a woman.
She put the blindfold on him.
Probably, he thought, she'd have a ball. And he wouldn't. All he'd get out of it would be a sore ass. That was the way it usually worked with them. Well, let her go ahead. Right now he didn't give a damn. He felt stupid. Stupid to be doing this, stupid dreaming about this stuff, stupid for being with her in the first place.
He thought that maybe he'd break it off with her. Find somebody new. She was getting a little flabby in the hips. He'd find somebody with better hips, a better ass. Though he guessed the ass was all right.
He'd start looking.
A woman who'd stay home nights. That's what you wanted.
She stood him up and led him to the doorway, raised his arms and looped the yarn over the nail a few times. Stroup had the strangest feeling that there was nothing going on here, nothing at all, they were just going through the motions. That neither of them was really in the room.
"There," she said.
The feeling persisted as she tried out a few of her own innovations. Tied his legs together at the ankles. Stuck a scarf in his mouth and tied another scarf around it. He guessed they had different aesthetics. The blindfold was a bit tight, it cut across his ears and made it hard for Stroup to hear.
He dangled there awhile alone with his thoughts and sometime went by and he wondered why she didn't come over and get on with it for chrissake but he didn't really give a damn either and then dimly heard something slide across the floor which sounded like heavy leather. He couldn't be sure.
"What are you doing?" he tried to say and it came out Blot aww ooo oooee?
To hell with it.
He was glad when she pulled the blindfold down off his ears, though. It was starting to make him uncomfortable. He smelled her familiar perfume, heard the toe of her boot tapping on the floor. She had her coat on and her hair brushed and her suitcase stood in the hall.
"See you, Stroup," she said. "You know what made me hot? Thinking of this. Drop dead in your tracks some day, Stroup. You were always a bum fuck anyway."
He watched her haul the suitcase out the door.
He had a headache. Felt rotten.
It was a good strong nail and it took him quite awhile to get down.
THE HANG-UP was the first of the Stroup stories. In later stories it suited my purposes to resurrect his relationship with Shiela and particularly his arrangement with her. There were a lot of arrangements floating around in those days. They almost never worked.
THE HEAT
Stroup sat at the bar watching TOPLESS—ALL NUDE flashing in the window. Three-fifty per drink and he wasn't paying attention. Jesus! What the hell was wrong with him? Right beside him a customer was sucking off one of the dancers, Stroup could hear him slurping away like a hungry dog. No class at all. You'd never catch Stroup doing that, not on your life. God knows what guano had gone up that chute today. The dancer had at least twenty bucks in her garter belt and at a dollar a shot that meant plenty of fingers and drooly little mouths had been at her. Let her sit on Stroup's fist. He wasn't getting his mouth in there.
Besides, she was a pig. They were all pigs. He didn't know why he bothered coming back to the joint. They were all fat and old and ugly. They made crazy sniveling sounds in your ear. He guessed that was supposed to be sexy. Stupid as flies, they were. Still it was a kick to have some woman sit down on the bar and play with your dick while a dozen other men watched and you nonchalantly sipped your Scotch. Hot meat and a heart of stone. And once in awhile they got a nice black bitch in there and you could have a good time.
But right now it disgusted him. It was that goddamn Shiela.
Ever since he'd taken up with her his life had been a misery.
Shiela and her goddamn arrangement.
The man next to Stroup finished ferreting around in the dancer's snatch. He laughed and smacked his lips. The asshole. He'd still be laughing when his tongue broke out in prickly heat.
"You got a dollar for me, baby?" the girl said to Stroup.
"I'm broke," he told her. "I'm gonna have to watch."
She draped her arm around his neck. With the other hand she played with her nipple, made it hard for him. Nice big brown nipple. "Pity," she said.
"Yeah."
The trouble was, thought Stroup, that Shiela had logic squarely on her side. If he could fuck other women then she should be able to fuck other men. Fair's fair, right? If he objected he was just being a sonovabitch, he was old-fashioned, he was ridiculous. He wanted to live his own life? Well, so did she.
How in hell did I ever agree to that? he wondered.
It was okay in theory but now there was this Andrew character from work. Andrew yet! What kind of a candyass name was that for a man? Stroup had met him. Big rangy guy with broad hands, in pretty good shape, good-looking yellow beard. Shiela said he was good in bed but that Stroup was better. Of course she'd have to say that. But Stroup believed her. There was something precious about this Andrew. He doubted the guy could go the mile. Stroup could go the mile and then some. He wasn't worried. Shiela wasn't going to leave him for this guy. This guy was no big deal.
All the same it pissed him off, nights like this when he was alone and Shiela was off somewhere with Andrew. He would picture that yellow beard working up and down against Shiela's pale red thatch and that would make him mad. Andrew was getting the goodies, that was the problem. Somebody was new to you, you gave him your best action. Adrenalin was up, anything was possible. Shiela was good with Stroup but it had been awhile since she was really great. The heat was off. They had no inspiration sometimes. And he wanted that, he wanted the heat. He wanted that fucking heat! It was easy to resent Andrew. He finished his Scotch.
"Want another, mister?" said the barmaid.
The dancers were all at the other end of the bar. One had her hand in some bum's lap, he could see her stroking him.
"Jesus, no," he said. He had to get out of there. He paid the girl his three-fifty.
"Come back soon," she said. He left her a quarter on the bar.
Let her stuff it. He knew what he'd do. He had a phone number for Andrew's girl. Fair's fair, he thought.
Go for the heat.
He met her in a restaurant near her apartment, he picked it for proximity. They both ordered corned beef sandwiches and she had a side of coleslaw. Now that Stroup had a good look at her, she wasn't half bad. A little on the plain side, the face was. But he liked the body. Tight boyish ass, slim hips, big tits. Just about the way he liked it. He wondered why she let that little pale mustache grow there. It made her look dowdy. She should get rid of that.
"You called because Andrew's with Shiela," she said. She took a big bite of her sandwich.
"Right."
"I don't sleep around, you know."
"You don't, huh?"
"Not usually. Once. Twice. Andrew does a lot, though."
"So do I. But with me and Shiela it's even-steven. An understanding. You know."
"So what did you have in mind for tonight?"
"What did I have in mind?"
"Yes."
"Uh...I had in mind to fuck you I guess."
"I don't like that."
"What?"
"'Fuck you.' It sounds cheap."
"Sorry."
"I do think you're attractive, though. I thought so the first time I saw you."
"I think you're attractive too, Janet."
She smiled at him. A little coleslaw dangled from her chin. He handed her a napkin. She smiled again.
He had those great big tits in his hands and they were firm, they were soft and smooth, they were just dandy. He wished to god she'd shut up, though. She was a funny girl. She kept talking and talking, he guessed she was shy. Even while he stroked her nipples she was talking. She seemed embarrassed for him to look at her. All
that yapping was to keep him from looking at her face when what he cared about was the body. The face was nothing. But it was a good body. She could use a little exercise, that was all.
"Wait a minute," she said. "I have to get up."
She went into the bathroom and Stroup got undressed and flopped down naked on the bed. He could hear her in there. She was brushing her teeth. Now what the hell was she doing that for? They'd both had the corned beef. So what was the problem? Corned beef can't hurt you. She came back and saw him lying naked. She laughed and turned away.
"Yeah? What?"
"Andrew and I never do that," she said. "We turn off the lights. We just never sit around nude like that."
"I ain't Andrew, am I?"
"No."
"So what were you doing in the bathroom?"
"Brushing my teeth. I do that a lot I guess. Three, maybe four times a day. I didn't throw up, though."
"You what?"
"I didn't throw up. Can I tell you a secret? Half the time I eat something I throw up. It's kind of a habit. Disgusting, I know. Do you hate me?"
"No, I don't hate you."
"I started dieting that way. Now it's sort of, like I say, a habit. Maybe that fact that I didn't this time's a good sign for us."
"Could be. Come on. Get your ass over here."
She giggled behind her hand and got into bed. Pulled the sheet over her leaving Stroup outside. Stroup smelled something. Now what the hell was that? As soon as she moved the sheets he smelled it. Something sour, wafting up from the bed. Smelled like piss. Hell, it was piss! Damned bed smelled like a catbox!
He hadn't seen any cat.
Screw it, he thought. So she throws up after her daily burger and fries and brushes her teeth too much and doesn't want you to look at her and probably she wets the bed at night or maybe that was Andrew, he wouldn't be surprised. The girl was crazy as a coot but screw it. This one was for Shiela. And up your ass too, Andrew.
Probably it was best not to waste much time though. She might have some more surprises. Right off the bat he plugged her.