Do you date models? Pardon me? You look like a guy who dates models. I smirked. I was wearing a Slayer T-shirt. Bedecked totally in black, including a hand-knitted shawl that covered her slouchy shoulders, she lowered her shades, glaring at me. Crimson red lipstick, black eyeliner, powdered white face, Alice was from the continuation high school next door, yet was enrolled in our Honors Brit Lit class. We talked about our bodies; we talked about expiring; we talked about books. I looked on as she playfully sucked up vodka from a sports bottle---standing by all the lockers. Want to get out of here? I asked. She nodded; we left then got on a bus. She lived on a military base. She told me she loved Wuthering Heights and, as far as love went, she expected nothing less. She asked me if I was capable of that kind of love and I said yes. We rode a mostly empty bus; it was around 1 P.M. We got off the bus and walked across a huge field on the military base, passing the sports bottle back and forth between one another, until we arrived at her house. We walked up the steps of a mobile home unit. Her mother hung glittering menorahs and Stars of David up during Christmas, even though the family was Catholic. Her bedroom was adorned with Christmas lights, the perimeter, all along the floor. She showed me her Thought Box; she read me her well-written erotica about giving Santa Claus a blowjob. I stared at the posters of her wonderland room and concluded that Alice was a being more precious than loss. I was sitting on the corner of her bed, with my hands in both pockets. “Want to take a nap?” “Okay.” We then climbed onto her bed, which was more like a cot, and lay there, on her cot, shoulder to shoulder, side by side, poor, faithful, silently, and then began to speak. I asked if she loved me; she said yes; I then told her that loved her, and so she nodded. And she then got off the bed and hunkered down on the floor and put on an album. She came back, and we stayed there for a while, and I rolled over and my tongue dipped into her mouth, as I then grabbed her rising black fishnet thigh and ripped it down to her knee. Disintegration played. A Cure album. I was 16. I picked the right girl.
Posted on: Tue, 04 Nov 2014 18:44:09 +0000
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