by Edward Lee
“Yes!” she yelled.
“But how can that be? If this were real, Sonia would’ve woken up. You have a very loud voice sometimes, you know that?” He sputtered. “It reminds me of my mother, which I guess is one of many reasons I’ve never liked you.”
“Oh, that’s just great, Frank!”
“This one, on the other hand...” He wandered over to Sonia who remained asleep on her side. He pushed her over on her back, then kneed onto the bed. His fingers slipped the straps of her nightgown down, then he lifted out the large, bulbous breasts. “God, those are great tits, aren’t they? Shit.” He played with them, infatuated. “I love these tits, Hazel, but the problem is...I fucking hate everything else that’s attached to them.”
“You really are a shitty person, Frank.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I am. But I’m a sucker for big tits, I guess. Drop a couple loads, then next thing I know she’s got me believing I’m in love with her and we should have a kid.” He pushed the nightgown up over Sonia’s swollen belly, then grimaced in disgust. “I should’ve made big-bellied whine-machine get an abortion.”
“Frank! That’s awful!”
His brows raised over the sunglass rims. “Think about what you just said. It’s awful for me to say that?”
“Yes!”
“But it’s your dream, Hazel, just like the fat guy told you in the other dream. It’s your mind that put those words in my mouth, so what does that really mean? Does it mean that I’m awful?” He thumbed open Sonia’s labia, then smirked. “No. It means that you’re awful.”
Hazel exhaled a long breath in frustration. “This dream sucks, Frank. I just want it to end.”
“Of course you do.” He walked back over to Hazel. “But between looking at your body and my fat, knocked-up manatee of a fiance’s tits, I’ve all of a sudden got some lead in the pencil, if ya know what I mean.” He stood at Hazel’s side of the bed now, closer. It was then that Hazel noticed the oddity: his breath.
Whenever Frank spoke, his mouth seemed to expel breath-fog, like when one talks in cold weather.
Only this breath-fog was black, like sooty smoke.
“Why is your breath—” she began.
“Just more conduction flux.” He smiled more sharply behind the black oral mist. “The spells reverse the valance of proximal molecule chains—it’s all geometry, Hazel—and one of many results is a directional yield. Fictility. It involves an inversive model of a quadric surface within angular hyperbolean variants. For instance, right now you probably feel like an invisible water bed is lying on top of you, right?”
“Yes!”
“Ah, well, consider, this”—he leaned over—“if I put my finger, just one finger, behind your head, and lift—”
He did this, and Hazel’s head raised off the bed as though it was instantly weightless.
“See? My brain waves—my thoughts—manipulated the desired valance.”
His finger continued to lift her head up, then her back, until she was fully sitting up, and then—
He continued to direct his finger, forward now, and down. Moments later, she was bending forward as her back bowed...
“What are you doing?”
“Sonia said you’re double-jointed or some shit, used to be a gymnast.”
“So?”
“I want to see you go down on yourself.” A smoky chuckle. “Don’t know why, really. It’s just the idea of you sucking yourself off really rings my bells...”
The bizarre task, impossible to most, was easily achievable for one as nimble as Hazel, though it had been awhile since she’d bothered. She gave into the perverse request, however, relaxing her hip joints and spreading her legs to an extreme. Concentrate, she thought, Frank’s finger still pushing. She imagined her spine going rubbery, then it bowed further until her pubic hair tickled her lips. She extended her tongue, ran the tip between the folds, and felt the forbidden thrill.
“No, no, not just the tongue,” he ordered. “Get your whole mouth down there on your pussy and suck.”
She relaxed more, folded over now in a human convolution. She smelled her own musk as each tiny increment of effort brought her closer and closer until—
“There,” Frank said, satisfied. “You did it. Now suck it.”
Her labia still ached from the various tortures the day had brought, but once the outer vulva was drawn into her mouth, she enjoyed the intense yet soothing sensation. She sucked her own folds, played with them between her lips. She heard Frank’s zipper come down.
“Suck your whole clit into your mouth,” he panted, leaning over close to watch. The meaty smell of his black breath gusted into her crotch. “Suck it like it’s a little cock and get yourself off...”
Hazel did so, coaxing the clitoris, hood, and immediate flesh upward via suction. Her saliva clicked as the suction grew systematic.
“Good, good, yeah,” Frank gusted, and with his approval came the sound of his own masturbation. “Suck it off. Make yourself come...”
Hazel filled her head with many of the day’s debauches; nauseating to typical women, these images had her whining in only another minute, summoning waves of imminence that made her groin throb. She let it all replay in her mind: being mauled, man-handled, tit-fucked, and fisted; being slapped, choked, and bilge-pumped; being forced to swallow a shot glass full of sperm and then letting not one but two male bladders be emptied into her stomach. All these repugnant images left her enfrenzied as her mouth desperately plied her own sex.
“Think about Sonia,” was what Frank’s black voice whispered next. “Pretend that’s her pussy you’re sucking...”
The mere words set her off; her pelvis bucked up against her mouth as the potent spasms broke.
“Good, good...Suck, suck...”
She came till she thought she’d collapse into herself. She was actually crying it had been so good...
When she wanted to teeter over, Frank jerked her face up. Thumb and index finger of his left hand dimpled her cheeks to give her fish-lips, while his right hand pressed his glans right to the hole and–
“There...”
Globs of sperm flowed between her lips onto her tongue, eddies of it. When he’d finished he kept her cheeks pinched together and pushed her head all the way back.
“Swallow now.”
Hazel nearly vomited when she did so. Oh, gross... The sperm tasted unlike any she’d experienced—it tasted wretched. It tasted the way old sperm smelled on a dried up wet spot three days old.
The room’s occult gravity slammed her shoulder blades back down on the bed.
“You’re something, you know that?” Frank’s words misted. He pulled his zipper back up. “You’re every perverted male fantasy in the flesh, Hazel. You are the personification of Woman As Object, a sexual spittoon, a thing, Hazel, that exists solely as a receptacle for every twisted desire to ever comprise a man’s most carnal obsessions.” He smiled below the foolish sunglasses. “You’re meat, and what’s worse is that you’re content with that role. You walk the earth with only one true purpose: to be fucked. You’re a human condom, Hazel—a fuck- dump—and that’s all you’ll ever be.”
“Fuck you,” she drooled.
Frank’s black voice puffed as he spoke. “Find the Shining Trapezohedron and you’ll be rewarded,” and then he turned and walked out of the cabin, counting each step.
“One, two, three...”
When he was gone, Hazel’s awareness was hauled down into utter, ghastly black.
“It’s almost noon!” the voice pried into her sleep. “Don’t you want to get up?”
Hazel’s eyes clicked open. When she tried to speak, her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth. What? she thought, then, Oh, God...Blocks of sunlight came one by one into the room as Sonia opened the shades.
“Here’s some coffee.” Sonia smiled down at her, setting a cup on the nightstand. She wore another bright, flowery sundress.
“Is it really noon?” Hazel groaned. A he
adache twinged at the back of her skull.
“Almost.” Sonia seemed perky, energized, as she busied about the room.
At least she’s not still down in the dumps, Hazel considered. She sat up naked in bed, rubbing her eyes. Damn. “Sorry I slept so late. That’s not like me.”
“No problem.”
Hazel was going to mention her nightmares but then thought better of it when she recalled the slowly reforming details.
“I was doing work anyway.”
“What work? Summer session’s over. You’re on vacation.”
Sonia sighed. “This morning I checked my email and found a note from Administration. They lost all my student evaluations—the entire student roster—for all my classes in the session. So now I have to re-collate the whole friggin’ thing, and send it back to them. They have to have it for the quarterly stats.”
“Bummer,” Hazel said. “I’ll be happy to help.”
“Thanks, but it’s really something I have to do. It’ll probably take a couple more hours.” Her smile beamed. “At least it’ll give me something to do while Frank’s on his way.”
Frank... Hazel tried to blink away the remnants of the nightmare: Frank’s black sunglasses, his black breath, ugly comments, and rotten sperm...
Sonia sat next to her. “And I’m sorry about yesterday.”
Hazel could’ve groaned. “You don’t have to ap—”
“You’re right, I did overreact.” Sonia laughed and rubbed her baby-bump. “Knocked up, you know? Crazy hormones. I don’t know how Frank’s been putting up with me the last eight months.”
Well, that’s a change, Hazel thought. He’s not the Big Bad Wolf anymore. “He said he’ll be back this afternoon,” she tried to sound confident, “and I’m sure he will be.”
“I know. I keep forgetting. Frank’s not just a self-absorbed guy, he’s a self-absorbed college professor. And by now his phone battery is dead, it’s got to be. Like you said, once he gets all this Henry stuff out of his system, he’ll be fine.”
Hazel nodded through a distraction. Of course she knew that last night was indeed a dream...her mouth was lined with the most awful taste. She hopped off the bed. “Well, you get back to work. I’ve got to take a shower and decide what I’m going to do today,” but as she moved away, Sonia’s hand caught her wrist.
“Wait!”
“What?”
Sonia kissed her lightly on the lips. “Thanks for being such a good friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Hazel looked at her, hoping the moment would turn serious, but then Sonia’s expression turned to one of concern. Her finger daintily touched Hazel’s left nipple.
“Your nipples look swollen...”
They ought to, Hazel thought. “They get that way sometimes, that’s all. Period’s coming,” and then she strode naked for the shower.
In the cubby, she brushed her teeth, brushed her tongue, gargled with vehemence, then let the cool water blank her mind. But there was still the Shining Trapezohedron to clean, and she did want to take another stab at uncrashing Henry’s computer. Frank might know what to do, she considered. She sudsed her pubis thoroughly, then blushed in the spray when she recalled dreaming of performing cunnilingus on herself. I didn’t really do that in my sleep, did I? She couldn’t imagine. What bothered her most, however, was the prospect she’d only now let come to the surface of her consciousness. Sonia seemed confident that Frank would indeed return this afternoon, but...
What if he doesn’t?
Hazel knew that she would have to find the Gray Cottage herself.
Today she dressed in fluorescent-green flipflops, a shortish stone-washed jean skirt, and a sleeveless tee that read: APRIL IS
THE CRUELLEST MONTH, BREEDING LILACS OUT OF THE DEAD LAND – T.S. ELIOT. She rolled her eyes when she saw her reflection in the little mirror: both nipples stuck out like pegs between the lines.
Hazel couldn’t identify what brought the idea to mind when she came back out. “Didn’t you say that Frank’s father lived in Concord?”
Sonia sat at her laptop in the den. She never looked up from her typing as she answered, “Yeah. I went up there with him once—pretty depressing place. It’s practically a nursing home.”
“So Frank’s father is an invalid?”
“He walks fine, the problem is he’s totally blind. Frank always felt bad about not having enough money to get him in a nicer facility. At least now, with Henry’s inheritance, he’ll be able to.” Sonia looked up. “Why do you ask?”
Hazel fiddled with the metal-version of the crystal box. “You’re busy for a while and I’m bored. Can I borrow your car and drive to Concord? I want to ask Frank’s father about the Shining Trapezohedron.”
“The wh—Oh, the crystal.”
“Yeah, and I want to ask him about this gemstone club Horace mentioned. That sounded pretty weird.”
“That along with an anonymous letter and five thousand in cash.”
“I mean, come on. A gem club? Did Frank ever mention anything about Henry Wilmarth being in a geology club of any kind?”
“Nope. But he obviously knew about this Shining Whatever, ‘cos Henry’s last instruction asked him not to bother looking for it,” Sonia reminded. “I’m kind of curious myself now. You really want to drive to Concord?”
“Why not? It can’t be that far.”
“From here, probably less than an hour.” Sonia checked her address book on the laptop, then quickly printed out the address of Thurnston P. Barlow. “Just use the map in the car, you shouldn’t have any trouble. It’s not far from the New Hampshire Technical Institute.”
“Cool. See ya later.”
“Oh, wait, and while you’re there, bring back some carry-out, okay, for the three of us. I’m dying for Chinese!”
“Sure.”
“Beef with chow fun noodles!”
“You got it,” Hazel smiled. “See you in a few hours.”
She skipped out of the house, into breezy heat. The car’s interior was scorching; she left the door open to air it out, then picked up the paper bag containing the Shining Trapezohedron. The tree patch had indeed softened in the heat but still left a tacky mess. I’ll work on this later, she resolved, then was in the car and on her way.
Southward on Interstate 93 had in forty-minutes’ time brought her to Concord. Revolution-era architecture was seen in every direction; the town seemed neat as a pin yet too small for a state capital. A few minutes later she’d parked and was entering the The Ammi Pierce House - Assisted Living Apartments. Frank had referred to the place as a “shit-hole,” but Hazel found the exterior clean, stately, and impressive. The shit-hole came after she’d entered when at once she was accosted by nursing-home odors and distant babbling. Jesus...These weren’t really apartments but just single rooms, like a boarding house. Hazel signed in at the shabby front desk; then the clerk—a gaunt, balding man with a giant adam’s apple—came around the desk to take her to Mr. Barlow’s room. The clerk’s gaze seemed to brush over her nipples through the T-shirt. He took her up to the second floor. The tannish carpet smelled rotten; she forced herself not to look to closely at variously shaped stains. A man in white-garb pushed a cart at the end of the hall. A male maid, she guessed. The man looked at Hazel blank-faced, then pushed onward.
Creepy joint.
When she knocked on Mr. Barlow’s door, a hushed voice said, “Please, do come in.”
The room was dark— Of course it is! The man’s blind. “Hi, Professor Barlow. My name’s Hazel Greene. I’m a—”
The dark form in the corner’s voice possessed a surprising vitality. “Ah, yes. Frank’s mentioned you. You’re his fiance’s friend.”
“And her teaching assistant at Brown, yes, and I know Frank pretty well too.”
“Feel free to turn on a light and have a seat,” and when Hazel did so she was shocked to note the haggard state of Thurnston Barlow. He was a scarecrow in oversized clothes, but appeared clean, recently shaven,
stark white hair neatly combed. Hazel knew the man to be in his sixties but the figure facing her from the armchair opposite looked in his eighties. Sunken cheeks, sunken eyes, face pallid like wax; overall he appeared drained of life. She could only see the very bottoms of his irises. The rest of the apartment looked as infirm as he did. Poor bastard, she thought.
Thin, bloodless lips barely moved when he continued, “And now you, Sonia, and Frank are taking a respite of sorts, at the late Henry Wilmarth’s cabin, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Henry was a brilliant man.” The voice was uncannily zealous to be spoken from someone so emaciated. “It’s quite a shame what happened. In hindsight, though, I wasn’t all that surprised.”
“Really?”
“He was quite a different person when he returned from St. Petersburg.”
The Mother’s Day Storm... Hazel tried to focus on her task yet she kept feeling an annoying distraction. She felt antsy...
“I suspect Frank or Sonia apprized you of the fact that I am completely blind,” the old man went on, “and I’m sure you’ve heard from time to time that the blind are known to compensate for their visual detriment by developing an excess acuity in other senses.”
“Yes, I have heard that.”
“So I hope you’re not offended by my saying”—he paused and sighed—“that you smell intense and absolutely lovely...”
Hazel chuckled. “I’m not offended at all, Professor Barlow.”
“Around a place like this, a sharpened olfactory sense is more a curse than a blessing.” He smiled, dead-eyed. “You’ve livened up an old man’s day more than you can know.”
“Well, I’m glad of that,” and only then did Hazel realize that she’d unknowingly spread her legs in the jean skirt. Had the man been able to see, right now he’d have a bird’s-eye view of her pantiless crotch. The idea instantly moistened her. “I think what you’re smelling is my shampoo. It smells like blueberry muffins. The guy I’m dating likes it.”