The Mammoth Book of International Erotica

HAVE BEEN DOING I COULD EVEN HAVE YOU ARRESTED FOR MOLESTATION! I wanted to tell her he was hardly a kid anymore, but the law might say otherwise. Oh, Jesus could you see it, me arrested?!? I got into my car and left. I knew it was over and part of me felt relieved that it was. Daniel wrote me a few more letters, saying he was sorry that his mother found the notebook. I ignored him. His mother sent him away for the summer and that was probably just as well. It was. When he came back, he didn’t seem to have any interest in me. Maybe he met another girl. But that isn’t the end of this story. The real end is this: not too long after the encounter with his mother, while Daniel was away that summer, I had another going-out-to-my-car encounter. From out of the bushes this boy emerges, a boy Daniel’s age, and he just gets into my VW with me, no asking, no words, he just does it. I recognise him as one of the boys I had seen Daniel hanging around with. He smiles and says hi, says his name although I can’t remember it now. I asked him what he wanted. He says to me I know what you’ve been giving Danny and I want some of it. I act like I don’t know what the heck he’s talking about. He laughs and tells me Daniel has been telling them (his friends) all about it, about us, what I do, and I believed it, you know how boys are: they always have to brag about their conquests; I was the same, actually, and still am: always telling my sexy stories to girlfriends, when I have sexy stories to share. So this bold kid says to me I want some, I want what you give him. I tell him to get the fuck out. He reaches over, grabs my hair, he says give it to me bitch my dad always says you gotta get rough when the bitches try to nigger out on what they’re born to give and my did it hurt, the way he had my hair, so I screamed and punched him in the nose. He wasn’t expecting that, I tell you! His nose begins to bleed. He puts a hand to it, looks at all the blood. He starts to cry. I say get out or I’ll hit you again you brat! and he runs out. It was after that I changed, this is when I knew I had to change: I had to readjust to a violent world.

I tell Cynthia I have a story similar to that, that I had an experience, at twenty-two, with a thirteen-year-old girl. I ask Cynthia if she wants to hear my story and she says yes, I want to hear it. We both look at Kathy, who still sleeps, legs on Cynthia’s lap, Cynthia still rubbing them, and Cynthia says so what’s your story? I say if I were ever to write this experience down, I would title it -

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 amp;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 amp;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.