Fuckness - Prunty_ Andersen.wps

by phuc

  “Why don’t you turn the side over and come take a rest.”

  I flipped the record over. The second side contained DeHaven’s slow, syrupy love ballads and fuckness like that. The kind of shit people write to get girls to think they’re sensitive types. I went and sat down on the couch, way over on the other side.

  Maria turned sideways on the couch, so that she was facing me, tucking her feet up under her legs.

  “That certainly was unique,” she said. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

  “On my own.”

  Looking at Maria, curled up there on the couch, made me think of her completely differently than I had the night before. Maybe it was just the dancing, but it kind of felt like we’d created some secret world between just the two of us. She had danced with me, something I didn’t think anybody else would ever do. And I had helped her with the dishes and cleaning the house, which I would say nobody else ever helped her do. And I also thought I knew something else that I doubted anyone else did.

  Suddenly, I realized what that peculiar look on her face was last night. She hated Boo Thiklet. Probably with a great unabiding passion. I’d only heard him talk for a few minutes and I hated him.

  “Nobody ever dances with me,” she said.

  “Me either,” I said right back.

  “It felt kind of good.”

  “It sure did.”

  “It’s nice to have company. Someone to talk to. Boo won’t even let me keep a pet so I just wander around here most days talking to myself like a crazy woman.” She laughed, a light breathy thing. “I guess we’re all a little crazy sometimes, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  A sudden wave of self-consciousness swept over me. It coincided directly with the fact that, at that moment, I found Maria Thiklet incredibly attractive. And it wasn’t a trashy kind of attractiveness that blobby Mary Lou Dover exuded at school. It wasn’t even the attractiveness I’d found in her when I first came to on the couch. It was something else. It was the way she did things. Or maybe it was the way she acted. She seemed innocently imprisoned in her house with her husband as the captor and yet she brought me in from outside and hadn’t even mentioned my goddamn horns. And my self-consciousness didn’t have anything to do with the way I looked. I just started thinking about how I should act and, top priority, how I smelled. I remembered Boo Thiklet saying I smelled like death last night. That was probably while I was in there wrestling with my fever. Sometimes, if you just let it go, stink will die down a little. But when you sweat, like after dancing for a half an hour, it’ll break that stink open so it’s a degree worse than it was before. Sitting on the couch, I was incredibly aware of my stink.

  “I stink,” I told Maria. “Can I go take a shower?”

  “You’re more than welcome. I have to go out and pick up sticks. That storm yesterday really did it. Blew all kinds of branches from the tree. Boo’ll complain if he comes home and finds a bunch of sticks laying all over his yard. Especially when it’s something he specifically asked me to do. Were you out in that storm yesterday?”

  “Only a little.”

  “Go ahead and shower up.”

  I crept upstairs to the bathroom and stripped down. I ran the shower nearly scalding hot. The fuckness is melting away, I told myself. It was like removing a layer of soulgrime I’d accumulated over the past few days. Why was I interested in that? It wasn’t just my stink, which had never bothered me before, it was everything else I’d done, too.

  And I was doing it because, for that moment when I looked at Maria and felt that sense of creating a secret place I’d wanted to forget every bad thing I’d ever done, every bad impulse I’d ever had. But then again there was something else in Maria’s eyes that worried me a little bit. There was the honesty, yes, but there was something about that honesty that made me think maybe the secret place was only going to be her place. Fuck it, I thought. I was sixteen. I’d pretty much go any place she wanted me to.

  The water steamed all over my body, reddening my skin, and I really did have a feeling the major fuckness was almost over. The fuckness would never leave completely, I knew, but it would be entirely possible to put off the next bout of major fuckness for a number of years. Spending the day with Maria would be nice. Then I’d go home. Then I’d go home. Then I’d go home, I kept telling myself.

  I grabbed a fluffy, deep blue towel and dried off. I put my dirty clothes back on.

  Well, I guess they were Boo’s clothes with my dirt. They only slightly smelled like death.

  When I got downstairs, Maria still hadn’t come back inside. I opened the sliding doors and stepped outside. Maria was bent over, hurriedly snapping up small twigs and placing them in the growing bundle supported by her left arm. I watched her move with industrious speed and put the bundle of twigs into a black trashbag. She was so immersed in her work she didn’t even notice me. She went back around to the front of the house. I went back inside and stood absently in the middle of the living room, only vaguely aware of pulling my right ear with my hand.

  When Maria came in she looked upset, like she’d been crying.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I’m just fine. Just a lot of stuff I gotta do before Boo gets home. I tell you, he doesn’t have to lift a finger around here, that’s for sure. Not a goddamn finger. Did you make your bed this morning?”

  “I tried. But I don’t think I did a very good job.”

  “Hey,” she said, “why don’t you give that ear a rest and come upstairs with me.”

  I followed her up the stairs much closer than I had last night. I got close enough to smell her natural shampoo and soap smell, the airy breath of outside clinging to her.

  Without thinking, when we reached the top of the stairs, I blurted, “You smell nice.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “It’s White Rain and Dove.”

  “Nice,” I said.

  I followed her into the guestroom and watched as she, with a few tugs and jerks, made the bed look better than I could have given an hour. I found myself staring at her and I felt kind of guilty because I could feel Mr. Lawrence hardening. Her skirt clung to her buttocks and I noticed the blue veins running through her feet. When she finished, she gave a cursory but expert glance around the room. She spotted the green lighter on the dresser, picked it up and asked, “This yours?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “You smoke?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not a pothead are you?”

  “No.”

  “Good. That stuff’ll make you stupid.”

  Birth had already done a good job of that, I thought. She put the lighter back down on the dresser.

  “I’m gonna go straighten up the bedroom.”

  She crossed the hall, leaving me standing there in the guestroom. I looked at the church through the window. The house was too close to see the entire thing. I felt the minutes drip slowly by.

  “Come here, Wallace,” Maria called.

  I crossed the hall and went to her bedroom. She was lying down on the bed, her legs over the foot with her feet on the floor. Her hands rested on her lower stomach and she looked at me, right into my eyes.

  “Boo makes me wear dresses every day.” She looked up at the ceiling. Her hands unbuttoned the top button on her dress. Then the next one. “Nobody wants to be told what to wear.” She went all the way down with the buttons and opened her dress. Her underwear were white. The whumming picked up in my head. I wasn’t really sure what was happening. I just knew I didn’t want to look away.

  “How old are you, Wallace?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Sixteen,” she said wistfully. “Have you ever made love to a woman?”

  Her question kind of put me on the spot and the whumming built and built up. It seemed like it should have been a relatively easy question to answer. Perhaps if she had been younger I would have lied right away. Like when I told Mary Lou Dover that I kissed girls all the time. But Maria was older an
d, some of the older people I’d met treated sex as though it were something akin to sticking a gun to your temple and pulling the trigger.

  I shook my head.

  “Of course you haven’t, you’re only sixteen.” She lifted the bottom of her shirt up, exposing her creamy white stomach. “Sixteen-year-olds don’t make love, they fuck. I thought I knew what love was when I was sixteen, but I was wrong. Have you ever fucked a woman, Wallace?”

  I shook my head again. I liked the way she said my name. She drew it out real slow and put most of the emphasis on the “S”-sound.

  “Do you know why people fuck?” She sat up a little, her belly wrinkling into small folds, and pulled off her shirt. The realities of her body and flesh sent the whumming slamming around inside my skull.

  I shook my head. I’d never really thought about why people did that other than I assumed it felt good.

  “People fuck so they can come. You’ve come haven’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Did you like the way it felt?”

  I nodded again.

  “It’s been two years since I’ve come, Wallace. That’s a long time. It’s been longer than two years since Boo’s fucked me. I mean really fucked me. And I never, you know, because I thought that would be like being unfaithful to him or something. He gets so drunk he can’t get it up, Wallace. It just lays there like a big worm. And I’m pretty sure he fucks other people. I want you to fuck me, Wallace. Don’t feel like you have to make love to me. Just fuck me. Make me come.”

  She undid her bra. The whumming was at an all time furious pace. She slid off her underwear. The hair at the “V” of her legs was much darker than the blond hair on her head.

  “Take off your clothes. Take your time. I’ll wait.” And she rolled over onto her front. I was frozen between removing my clothes and trying to take in the sight of her. I didn’t want to look away and I didn’t know how any of this had happened. I got my clothes off and then everything blurred, like walking through a soft dream.

  I moved over to the bed and put my hands on her, her skin and body growing rigid. But it was a rigidity she responded to, pressed up against, and she touched me back.

  The dry, silky touch of her fingertips seemed to be everywhere at once—the dampness of her mouth. And I did the same. I touched her every place she touched me, caught my hands up in her hair, ran my fingertips over her eyelashes, her nipples. It shocked me but I found myself running my lips and tongue all over her body, her hands guiding my head, her mouth whispering my name. I enjoyed the taste of her skin, the light dusting of sweat, and how her taste intensified closer to those areas she found most pleasurable.

  Our secret place swelled. A sense of timelessness born from our act. I realized it wasn’t about trying to kill the other person. It wasn’t about killing or destruction at all. It was about making. A substantial construction of the secret place. Secrets are always made more meaningful when they’re between two people. The twoness of the act was what I found to be the most overwhelming aspect. I couldn’t stand most people for more than an hour and here I was completely naked with another person and letting her guide me wherever she wanted to.

  “Fuck me,” she whispered. “It’s time.”

  Suddenly she was beneath me, her legs on either side, my penis against the warmth of her sex and the dream was pulled up into quivering reality. Mr. Lawrence was soft as gelatin, hanging there like a “worm.” I’d never even thought of that happening until she’d mentioned it. I guess it had been in the back of my mind the entire time.

  Except it hadn’t been soft. From the second I saw Maria spread out there on the bed, Mr.

  Lawrence had been properly engorged and happy as can be.

  “Relax,” she said and moved it up against herself.

  I willed it into erection again and she guided me inside. It was a glimpse of heaven, the heat sinking through my entire body, but Mr. Lawrence wilted again, tumbling out of her. She sat up, one leg pulled in close to her. She was on the verge of tears.

  “I’m just a big frump,” she said.

  I didn’t really know what to say. Mr. Lawrence’s behavior certainly didn’t have anything to do with the way Maria looked.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I really want to. I just don’t know what’s wrong. Maybe I should go.”

  She grabbed my arm. “You’re not leaving this house until I’ve come. You can fuck me in front of Boo and God himself but, so help me, it’s happening.”

  Awkwardly, we sat on the bed. At that point, I really didn’t know what to do aside from like attaching a penis splint or something. Then Maria had a notion.

  “Of course,” she said.

  She lay back and put a hand between her legs, massaging the area. With her other hand, she guided my head down. I figured she wanted me to kiss her there. I’d heard of women coming that way, but she kept pushing my head down. She moved my head to the side until the left horn, the dull one Uncle Skad had tried to sand away pressed against the opening. She reached into a drawer by the bed and pulled out a bottle of lubricant, slathering it all over the horn. She slid herself down onto it, moaning lowly. I couldn’t really see anything. I could hear the sounds of her sex opening and her rapid, ragged moans as she worked against the horn, using the other one as a lever, her legs wrapped around my chest and clasped at the ankles. She shuddered to a climax. The sound of her moaning stood Mr. Lawrence back up again. I pulled the horn out and moved up between her legs again.

  “Please,” she said. She put her hand around it to guide me in and I went off. She giggled. “You don’t know how happy you’ve just made me.”

  We lay in the bed for awhile and I enjoyed the secret place as much as I did when we were coupling a few moments earlier. I guess we dozed off for a few minutes. I woke up to Maria shaking me.

  “Wallace! Wake up!”

  The world was out of focus and far away. Her words were jumbled and, slowly, they started making sense.

  “Wake up! You gotta get dressed so I can take you home before Boo gets back.

  Hurry!”

  I threw myself out of bed. She was already dressed. I hurriedly put my clothes on and chased her downstairs.

  “Your shoes are over there,” she said.

  My shoes were over there! I was confused as all hell.

  “Hurry!”

  Since it only required slipping them over my feet. I got them on pretty quickly.

  She was already hurrying for the front door and I followed her. The keys jingled as she lifted them from a hook by the table. She wrapped the ring around a finger, said, “Come on,” turned, and saw the same thing I did—Boo’s silhouette as he twisted the doorknob to come in the house.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Boo!

  Maria quickly plunged the keys into her dress pocket just before Boo swung the door open. What he saw when he opened the door, the look on mine and Maria’s faces, it must have been like, well, the look of a cheating wife and the man who fucked her. I wondered if he could smell her vagina on my horn. What I saw was, strangely enough, exactly what I expected to see. Boo Thiklet was a strapping man. Taller than me and quite a bit bulkier, which wasn’t hard, so maybe that’s an understatement. I knew he was a steelworker and I imagined he could carry one of those giant steel I-beams, the kind that weigh like 1500 pounds, all by himself. He wore his hair in an ostentatiously-styled mullet—short, spikey and heavily gelled on the top and sides, curly in the back. It hung down well past his collar. A skintight Steeltown Beer t-shirt adorned his barrel chest and was tucked staunchly into his navy blue jeans. So the strange thing about seeing Boo Thiklet was not the way he looked, but the way I saw him. The moments were slow and crystalline and for a few heart-jumping seconds, it felt like we looked right into each other’s soul.

  He raked his mustache with the back of his thumb, his other four fingers jutting out oddly in front of his face.

  “Honey, you’re home!” Maria said. It turned my stomach. Did she greet him
this way every day or was she just as nervous as me?

  “You two looked like you was goin somewheres.” Boo fully entered the house, haphazardly tossing his lunchbox in the corner of the kitchen.

  “Well, I was just gonna run Wallace home.”

  “You live round here?” He talked slowly and loudly. Like he put all of his bulk into his speech.

  “Milltown,” I said. I was surprised I could speak with any clarity whatsoever.

  When I first saw him at the door, all of the saliva had left my mouth.

  “Milltown, huh? Why dontcha stay for dinner. What’re we havin, babe?” He looped an arm around Maria and gave her an inappropriately long kiss. No one should really have to watch people kiss like that. Maria broke the kiss and Boo thrust a cold stare at her.

  “Well, it’s not made yet.”

  “You ain’t even started it?”

  “You’re home a little earlier than usual.”

  “Didn’t you say you was makin roast beef? Seems like it should be started.”

  “I was gonna start just as soon as I got back.”

  “Seems like yer a little behind today. Didn’t the boy help ya clean up none? Why dontcha go ahead and get that started. You ain’t gotta go nowheres now, do ya? Boy said he’s stayin for dinner.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just we had that storm the other day and I picked up all those sticks...”

  “You didn’t get all of em. There’s a biggun out there by the road. The enduh the driveway. Like you just left it there ta make me mad.”

  “I’m sorry. I always forget about that spot.”

  “At’s partuh mah yard too. First thing people see.”

  “Did you want me to get it now?”

  “It can wait. You make that hair appointment fer me?”

  “Not yet.”

  He grabbed her again, roping her in for another kiss. Boo was randy tonight, I thought. This time he put his hand against her back and lifted up her shirt. She pried his hand off and broke the kiss again. He gently pushed the side of her head and thumbed his mustache again. “She’s a fuckin ice woman, boy. So what’s yer name?”