The Mammoth Book of International Erotica

by Maxim Jakubowski

  THE WATCHMEN LEAVE THEIR STATIONS

  – but, as I think about it, perhaps the events of this encounter are not as dramatic as my memory would like to give credence to. The girl’s name was Isabelle; a very pretty young girl, and I met her through her mother. Her mother was forty or something. When we’d met in the bar, I thought she was mid-thirties, and she looked good, but it was, you know, dark, and I was kinda drunk. What was this woman’s name, anyway? You recall the daughter, but not the mother. Oh, yes: Margo. Margo the Mother. Needless to say, Margo took me back to this trailer she lived in and there we had this drunken fuck and fell asleep. I woke up before she did, saw that she was older than I was led to believe, and without her make-up . . . well, she wasn’t that bad, but when it came to older women, I didn’t pick them that old. Thirty-five at most. Oh well. I looked around the trailer. It was quite messy. Saw that Margo was waking up so I pretended I was asleep. I heard her say Christ, I have to get to work and she nudged me and said hey you wake up now. I acted like I just woke up and asked what time it was. She said it was late, she said it was nine o’clock.

  I said the world isn’t even alive at nine.

  She said not for a vampire like y’all.

  We both went oh oh oh.

  She said so what do you remember of last night, sweetheart? anythin’?

  I said hey sure what kind of guy do you think I am? and although I didn’t want to, I moved to kiss&touch her.

  She said ahhhhh, now.

  I told her I liked doing it in the morn.

  Do you now?

  Mornings are the best.

  Now, lovebird, last night wasn’t so bad.

  Yeah, okay.

  But I ain’t no mornin’ love-girl.

  I should tell you, Cynthia, that she talked with this southern accent, just like I say it.

  She said I really have to get mosyin’ to work.

  You work?

  I don’t exist on nuthin’, sweetpants. I got me a kid to feed.

  Kid?

  She’s a kid: a youngun, I don’t know where she is, she’s around here somewhere. She’s a good kid. You dint see her last night? She sleeps on the sleepin’ bag on the floor there. But it was dark and you were drunk.

  I said you talk funny.

  She said you talk funny, dear, but at least you’re all cute.

  I said don’t tell me you’re from Georgia.

  She said oh Gawd no. I’m from N’Awlins. Grew up there.

  I told her (for the hell of it) (and maybe I wanted to) that I felt like fucking.

  She said no, not here, we don’t have time, and maybe my kid might come in.

  I said then I just wanted to go back to sleep because I had this very bad hangover.

  She got up, naked, and she was a little chunky I saw, and she went to take a shower.

  She said as she went in you’re a bum, you know, but you probably already know this.

  I said sure.

  She came back out, dried off, and put on a waitress’ uniform. She said look, sorry, but I gotta rush.

  I told her how awful my hangover was.

  She said I do have to go but I guess you can stay and sleep awhiles, if y’all want. Kay, lover? This place is tiny, so just close the door, go when you feel better.

  She left.

  I lay there, then lit a cig. Wondered why I was here. Thought I should probably get up&go.

  Don’t know when it was, ten minutes later, a young girl in a long shirt down to her ankles came in. She had straight brown hair, soft pale skin, long legs, retainers on teeth. I could see small buds of breasts.

  She looked at me, didn’t seem surprised, and said (with a southern slant as well) good mornin’.

  I said hey who are you? Margo’s kid?

  She said her name was Isabelle and she asked, real snooty like, who the hell are you?

  I said she was a snot, I said you’re a snot and my name is Mike.

  She just stood there so I said you’re not the friendly type are you?

  She said I’m friendly. Thing is, most of Momma’s men friends don’t stick ’round long ’nuff to be friends with.

  I said well I’m not going anywhere right now.

  She said you will soon.

  I said are you so sure of that?

  She said they all leave: they come, they go.

  I asked why do you say that?

  She said it’s the way it is.

  Your mother have a lot of men friends?

  Sure; she finds them in bars.

  How old are you?

  She found you in a bar, right?

  Well, yeah, that’s where we met last night.

  I heard you two comin’ in.

  Did you?

  I was on the floor here.

  I didn’t see you.

  I sleep on the floor, in this here bag.

  Always?

  Not ’nuff room on the bed there, with a man friend always with Momma.

  Oh.

  I’m too old to sleep with Momma anyway.

  So how old are you?

  When I was smaller, I used to.

  What?

  They would do it while I was there next to them. They thought I was asleep but I weren’t.

  Oh.

  Like I heard you two last night.

  Oh?

  She said I never knew my Daddy. You like my Momma?

  I said I guessed I did.

  She said do you now?

  Sure.

  Bet she looked diff rent in the mornin’ than she did in that bar. And you’re younger than she is.

  I said old story; story of my life; older women.

  Isabelle asked how old I was.

  I told her.

  She said oh that ain’t so old.

  Maybe not.

  She said Momma’s forty-eight.

  I laughed.

  She asked what’s so funny?

  Last night she told me she was thirty-eight, she told me.

  Isabella said oh, then I guess she is.

  I said those women always lie.

  She said whaddya mean those women?!

  Oh, you know.

  I dunno. But you like my Momma, right?

  Sure.

  I think she likes you, too. But she had to get off to work, y’know.

  I know. She said I could sleep a bit. But I couldn’t fall back to sleep.

  Isabelle said so instead you smoke that smelly cig’rette.

  I asked does it bother you?

  She said yes.

  I said I’d put it out, and I did.

  I asked where does your mother work?

  Didn’t she tell you?

  No.

  She’s a waitress.

  That I know. Where?

  This dumb ol’ diner.

  Oh.

  Surprised?

  No.

  I didn’t think so.

  I asked her, again how old she was.

  She asked why do you wanna know?

  I said I just do.

  How old do I look?

  Dunno.

  Guess, you silly.

  Fifteen?

  She smiled and said no.

  Fourteen?

  No.

  You can’t be thirteen?

  Yes.

  Thirteen?

  Yes.

  Thirteen.

  Thirteen.

  I said well.

  Well what?

  I said young.

  She said so.

  I said so.

  She said I was gonna make breakfast. You want some breakfast?

  I said that would be nice.

  (CUT TO:)

  We were sitting on the floor of the trailer, eating scrambled eggs&bacon.

  I said this is really good.

  Isabelle said oh you’re just sayin’ that.

  I said I haven’t had a nice home-cooked meal since – since I dunno. This is really good.

  She said Momma taught me how to cook. Said I needed to know
’cause one day I’d be on my own and all that. Ahh, one day I’ll find a man and marry him and have babies and I’ll have to cook for him and the babies. Hmmmn. I wonder what that will be like.

  What?

  Gettin’ hitched and all.

  I said that’s a long way for you.

  She said I just know I’ll be happy! I’ll only marry a man that’ll make me happy. I don’t wanna be sad. Like Momma is sometimes. She still loves Daddy whoever he is.

  I went ummmn, eating eggs.

  She said I never knew him.

  I said that’s too bad.

  She said my babies will know their daddy. We’ll all be happy together. Never have to worry about a thing in the world – food or money or rapists or killers. We’ll have a house. The house will be clean. We’ll have cars. Credit cards. VCRs. We’ll go to operas and art galleries. We’ll fly to Europe.

  Um-hm.

  You don’t believe me?

  I do.

  You ever been married?

  Nah.

  Why not?

  I was engaged once, when I was twenty-one. Just not too long ago. But that’s a different story; in fact, it’s a different life.

  What happened?

  Don’t remember . . .

  You just don’t wanna say.

  I don’t . . . I don’t remember.

  What? You senile already?

  I didn’t want to talk about this. Too much pain. I told her a lot of things happened . . . no one specific thing. What I recall most is an image, an image of . . . of the moon.

  The moon?

  Moon.

  Isabelle asked did you love her?

  Well . . . yes.

  You think about her a lot?

  Sometimes.

  You have dreams about her?

  No, not anymore. Used to – have these strange . . .

  Seems like it was all just yesterday? Last month or what?

  You ask funny questions, you know.

  She said what was her name?

  Who?

  The intended bride.

  I said Beth.

  Elizabeth?

  I said you’re pretty smart for thirteen.

  She said I’ve been married several times.

  Yeah sure.

  She pointed to her head&said I mean up here, this is where I have been married.

  I asked what, none of them work out?

  She said you always look for perfection in the wrong place and then she asked me hey don’t you ever dream?

  What’s that?

  Tell me about your dreams.

  I said they’re mostly just nightmares. Dreams, you see, are nice. What I have are not nice. They are bad. You don’t want to hear them.

  She said dreams are all that matter, Michael, it’s all we ever have.

  (CUT TO:)

  A few hours later we were playing the board game Monopoly, still on the messy floor. She had more hotels&money than I. Margo, in her waitress uniform, came in as we were playing.

  Isabelle said hey, Momma.

  Margo said to me you, you’re still here?

  I said guess I got caught up in this game.

  Isabelle said we’ve been playin’ games all day and I’ve been winnin’.

  Margo said oh.

  I said she beats me all the time.

  Margo said to me I certainly dint expect to find y’all here, sweetbuns; I just thought you’d sleep&go.

  Isabelle said we had breakfast.

  I said I was sorry and that I’d go if she wanted me to.

  Margo said no, no, that was awright. I’m glad you’re all here. I was just gonna get dressed and head back to that great li’l bar where we met, you know? But I do need an escort and well you are here.

  I looked at Isabelle and Isabelle nodded.

  I said sure sounds great I could use a drink or two.

  Margo said or ten.

  (CUT TO:)

  Night.

  I was really drunk.

  I was pounding on the door to the trailer.

  Isabelle answered, wearing shorts and a tank top.

  Nipples of her tiny breasts hard.

  I said where’s that Momma of yours?

  Isabelle said I thought she was with you.

  I thought so too.

  She left with you. Did you lose her?

  I said she was making quite a scene in there, at the bar, that Momma of yours. Was talking to every man there. Ignoring me. Who does she think she is anyway? I thought I saw her leaving with this man, I’m not sure. I thought she might’ve brought him back here.

  Isabelle said she still might, who knows.

  I said do you really think she took off with another man?

  She said probably; Momma often does; that’s why the men don’t stay ’round long.

  I ranted well your Momma is a whore! a slut!

  Isabelle looked at me, cold.

  I said I’m sorry, Isabelle. I didn’t mean to say that about your Momma.

  Isabelle shrugged and said it’s okay because you’re right, she is a whore. But she’s still my Momma and I love her, whore or not.

  I said maybe I shouldn’t stick around; maybe she’ll bring that man here; I don’t wanna cause a scene.

  Isabelle said well it’d bring some excitement to all the boredom ’round here.

  I asked do you think she might bring him back?

  She said Momma doesn’t always bring them here, not if the man ain’t married and has a nice place to take her to.

  I said it’s cold out; I think it’s going to rain.

  She said I was thinkin’ it might.

  Where should I go?

  We can play another game.

  (CUT TO:)

  I woke up on the floor.

  In my clothes.

  Feeling like shit.

  Isabelle was on her Momma’s bed, in the same shorts and tank top.

  She was looking at me.

  She said Michael.

  Yeah?

  Get up.

  I said what the hell? and looked around.

  I said I guess your Momma didn’t come back.

  Isabelle said she doesn’t when she has two days off from work, like now. This is her weekend as she calls it so she doesn’t come back for two days from now.

  I asked what happened?

  She said you don’t recall?

  I saw that there were a lot of beer cans around; I asked about them.

  Isabelle said last night you walked down to the liquor store, in the rain, ’cause you wanted some beer. You even gave me one. I usually don’t like beer; I like wine.

  I said I remember the rain.

  Yes.

  I hate the rain.

  It’s almost Christmas.

  I hate that too.

  That’s what you was tellin’ me last night. We talked a lot.

  Did we?

  You – you don’t remember do you?

  She seemed hurt.

  I said what?

  She said it don’t matter none.

  (CUT TO:)

  We were eating lunch.

  Sitting on the floor.

  I said I want to take you somewhere, Isabelle.

  Out?

  I said we can go and have fun, even in the rain.

  She said I think it’s stopped.

  I said but it’s cold out there.

  She said why go out there when we can stay in here?

  You like being cooped up in here?

  She said we create our own world here; we don’t have to play by the rules; we can make the game up in here. Out there – out there in the cold&rain – it’s a different game; it’s The World. There are no dreams in the world. In here, we don’t have to listen to anyone; no one can control us and tell us what to do, what is right or wrong. We have books and a small TV. We have – each other.

  I said, we do.

  She said I just want to stay inside here, with you.

  (CUT TO:)

  She said I want you to ma
ke love to me, this is the night, this is the time, I want this and I told her no, I couldn’t do it. I looked down at her, her small face, her lean, delicate body. I was surprised that I had been doing this, on her Momma’s bed, an hour’s worth of kissing, making out as she called it. I had grabbed one of her little breasts, the taste of her retainer’s on my tongue. She had a slender leg around my waist and she said you have to make love to me, I have to know. Knowing very well the trouble this whole thing could deliver on me, I pulled off her shorts. She wore yellow panties with duck imprints. I had to laugh, just a little. When I removed her panties, I was both frightened&delighted by her virgin sex. Yes, she was a virgin, she had told me so. She said I’ve never made love with anyone. She had light brown pubic hair; her opening small, pink, fresh. I had never seen a vagina as so, not having had sex until I was fifteen, with girls that age, girls who had already been fucked more than once. I could not help myself: I put my mouth on her, I took her in, her smell, her taste, and with like your younger lover, Cynthia, the girl was ambrosia&impassioned. What am I doing? I thought. But I was down there well over an hour, enraptured with my licking&sucking, Isabelle buckling, quivering, crying out, sweating, coming, and coming again, juices flowing into my mouth like rivers of sugar. I wondered if she’d ever had an orgasm before. Tired, I lay my head on her stomach, listening to the rain outside. Like you, Cynthia, I felt the guilt, but I knew I had just given her something she would never forget, something that she would always recollect fondly. She whispered you must make love to me now. She took my face into her small, warm hands, staring at me and saying I have to know. She said you have to make me a woman. I knew there was no getting around it. I told her it might hurt. She said she knew. I positioned myself over her, placed my cock down there, and wondered if such a small opening could take me without agony. Just getting the head in was difficult. She was wincing, in that dark, with pain, I could tell. I told her I’d stop and she said no no she wanted this now. I entered her, pushing hard. Isabelle wailed, not unlike those cries of pleasure that had preceded when I gave her oral. I felt a warm rush down there, warm&wet, and knew it was blood. I almost withdrew, but she pulled me closer and told me to go all the way and she didn’t mind how it hurt. So I did, slow at first, then frantic, the smell of her sweat&sex in my nostrils, her hair, tangled, her kisses on my neck, her hands on my back&ass, her grunts, soft grunts, her small ass in my hands as I lifted her butt, lifted her so I could plunge deeper, plunge fast, hard, myself breathing into her shoulder, her hair, the bed squeaking, squishy sounds at her groin as our connection made haste, her stomach against mine breathing air in&out heavily, her breath against my neck warm as I fucked, and came, came inside her, just coming&coming like it’d never end, not once thinking of the consequences should I impregnate a thirteen-year-old girl. And when I was done, I fell on her, weeping, feeling so dirty. She ran her hands through my hair and said I love you, husband: we’ll be happy together. She said we’ll have babies and they will know you. We will go places. To art galleries. We’ll got to Europe. We’ll hold hands in the sunset and be a postcard. We’ll have a clean house.