The Minotauress

They split another pitcher as the tavern's din rose. All the pool tables were full, and there wasn't an empty seat in the house. Doreen was seen slipping out of the men's room—deftly replacing her dentures and wiping her mouth—and then a second later a man came out as well. Meanwhile, Cora Neller had seen fit to get up on a table and dance, but when she pulled up her top—showing death-camp breasts—she got booed down.

Balls remained excited about his new business propositions, especially Crafter's house, which he knew in his heart was a done deal. But something else, on the periphery of his psyche, was bothering him.

'Hey, Dicky. ‘Member when we was kids'n every so often we'd go over ta Mrs. Houser's house'n look in her winder'n watch her brush her hair nekit?'

'Aw, yeah!' Dicky recalled, a bit tipsy now. 'And then she'd do jumpin' jacks and bendin'-over exercises whiles we was watchin'!'

'Yeah, and ‘member how we'se always had the idea she knew we was watchin' but she never did nothin'.'

'Yer right, yer right! And then we'd beat off whiles we was watchin'!'

Balls nodded. 'Yeah, yeah, and we'se were all pissed off 'cos we was too young ta squirt.'

'Aw, yeah, man, we couldn't wait fer our peters ta start kickin' out juice like the older boys—'

'And like in them old porno mags we found in that ravine behind the old Dart Drug.' Balls peered intently at Dicky. 'We knew that jism came out'a peckers when we saw that. ‘Member?'

Dicky searched his not-very-elaborate memory. 'Yeah! They was in a old suitcase! So's we'se crawled down that ravine thinkin' it was full'a money from a bank robbery or somethin' and thens we busted it open'n it was stuffed with old porno, and each page had some fella squirtin' a big ole load in some skanky chick's face or tits.'

'Um-hmm, and that one mag had pregnant chicks that guys was fuckin' and comin' on, and we couldn't believe that shit—'

'Oh, yeah!' Dicky's memory began to chug.

'—and then that other mag with mostly black fellas with cocks on 'em like chunks'a radiator hose and they'se was cornholin' all these little skinny white junkies, and fer the life'a us we couldn't figure how somethin' that big could go into somethin' that small—'

'Man, I'se forgot all about that, Balls!'

Balls lowered his voice. 'And do ya remember that last mag in the suitcase, Dicky? That one we figgured must'a been from the '50s on account it were black'n white?'

Dicky's yap fell open as he searched his mind...

'‘Member that? It were these big brawny guys fuckin' the stuffin' out a bunch more junkie girls, and these fellas was spittin' in the gals' mouths'n blowin' their noses on 'em, and all kinds'a groaty stuff, and then one guy had his fist up a splittail's snatch coupla inches past the wrist, and then another fella stuck his whole foot in a girl... '

Dicky suddenly blanched at the recollections of pornographic imagery. 'Aw, yeah, now I ‘member. The mags with guys fuckin' girls and gittin' blowed were fine but that last one like ta turn my stomach. Made me fuckin' sick, it did... '

Balls seemed focused on some inner impulse. 'But'cher forgettin' the last page, Dicky. ‘Member the last page'a that black'n white mag?'

Dicky stared, then gulped.

'Had that fella with, like, a Beatles haircut stickin' a pistol barrel right up that girl's beaver, and theres was some blood comin' out her.'

'Aw, man. That were some disgustin' shit, man. Didn't turn me on none, that's fer shore. It even killed my hankerin' ta beat off.'

'Well that's just it, Dicky. Average person's probably of a mind that that sorta porn ain't fer no one but folks sick in the head.'

Dicky gulped again, nauseated. 'Fella'd have to be sick in the head ta git boned up lookin' at shit like that. A gun stickin' up a gal's bloody pussy? Shee-it.'

'And, fuck, Dicky, we weren't no more'n ten years old when we'se found that old suitcase. But ya knows what? When I gots home that day... I did beat off, and I did on account of that last picture. Sick as the shit was, I had a boner somethin' fierce, I did, and once I got ta thinkin' 'bout that pistol in the gal's cooze, I beat off like there were no tomorrow, and even now, after all them years, I still got that picture locked in my head, and if'n I think about it, I get wood.'

Dicky stared at him.

'So's I'm startin' ta think there's somethin' wrong with me, ya know? That I'm the one sick in the head.'

This was getting too deep for Dicky. He scoffed, 'Aw, shee-it, Balls, ferget it. Ain't nothin' but a picture of a bunch'a fucked up junkies.'

Balls nodded with some contemplation. 'Maybe, but gettin' back to what I was sayin' first? 'Bout Mrs. Houser?'

Dicky smiled, for this image was much more appealing than the previous. 'She had tits on her bigger'n our blammed heads. And ‘member that hair-pie she had?'

'Yeah, yeah, I know, but here's somethin' I never tolt ya,' Balls went on, serious. 'It was after me'n you dropped out'a that shit-hole junior high they bussed us to in Clintwood. Me'n you didn't see each other much after that 'cos we'se was workin' fer our Daddys, but, see, I kept goin' back ta Mrs. Houser's place at night ta jerk off whiles lookin' at her nekit, see?'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. I were thirteen, fourteen years old by then, and lemme tells ya, my dick was kickin' out some cum by that age... '