Visceral Lit











{May 7, 2007}   October 26th 1991.
The ache of losing the last boyfriend was still heavy in my chest. The air that year had stayed hot. It had been an exceptionally warm summer and was turning into an unseasonable autumn.

I sat on a picnic table, a light denim jacket wrapped around my shoulders as twilight settled over me. It was the first time I’d been back here since early June. This party wasn’t as wild. There were more teenagers and fewer adults, true, but the heavy sense of impending winter was prevalent.

It was clear we were bidding goodbye to summer, rather than engaging in the Dionysian excess of welcoming it.

Old habits die hard, especially in me, and I was staring, unnoticed, at his profile. His hair had grown longer over the summer. It still curled tantalizingly at the back of his neck though, thick strawberry coloured rings hidden to all but the most intimate observer under the length of blonde on top. I longed to run my fingers through that hair, feel it softly brush against the back of my hand, curl around my fingers. I longed to stand close to him and breathe him in, to touch him confidently and be touched back.

His blue eyes flashed over in my direction and he saw me and grinned. He never smiled; he grinned and like Alice watching the cheshire cat, all I could see was his mouth; a flash of red and white. He half strode and half ran to the sun porch to change the music. A moment of silence and the first few bars of The Beatles’ white album ring out over the field.

I hadn’t listened to the white album since the last time I’d been with the one who had so recently broken my heart. A deep empty melancholy settled over me. Hot on the heels of the melancholy were some new feelings. Resentment, Vengeance and a healthy helping of Unfinished Business raised their heads and led me to the porch. I took a seat across from him. We looked at each other, uncomfortably sizing up the other’s positions for a while. Apropos of everything and of nothing the track changed and the pedestrian rhythm of Why Don’t We Do It In The Road began.

“I like this song” (“At least”, went my subtext, “I like where it could lead us.”) He turned his head to one side and gave me a penetrating stare. That stare that attempted to see right into me. It never seemed to get right to my core, that stare, but I loved that he tried. It made me feel interesting.

I shrugged when he commented that it wasn’t usually a favourite. “The first time I played this one for my ex-boyfriend, (“I’ve moved on from you, you know, and on and on and on” The subtext screamed “but I’m single right now”) “He was properly shocked. It was amusing, given the circumstances” (a look meant to convey that the circumstances should have precluded shock about a Beatles song).

He considered me for some time and I tried to play it cool, all the while a heat rising slowly up my neck. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. When I looked at him again he was still staring at me with those piercing blue eyes. He had leaned forward in his chair. “Where are you sleeping tonight?” He enquired finally.

My heart skipped a beat and I was glad I was sitting down or else I think my knees would have buckled and my legs would have melted out from under me. A sharp stab of something darted at supersonic speeds up my centre, leaving in its wake a tapering heat. I went for casual, but my face was burning and my speech betrayed me. “I d-d-dunno” I shrugged “I figured probably in Sally’s room”. He nodded. “Well, I’m heading up to the attic now. You’re welcome to crash up there if you like.”

He got up and stood in front of me, staring expectantly. I rose on shaking knees and followed him mutely up the three flights of stairs to the room he shared with his cousin. I was shocked and titillated to find that he had gone through with his plan to mount a mirror on the ceiling and a line from an Eagles song flitted through my head, reminding me of our first date, when he’d bought the album on vinyl from a garage sale we’d walked past. Sleeping bodies were strewn all around the half of the room that he and Spaulding had set up with wall to wall matresses and cushions. He tossed me an old t shirt of his. Offering it to me to sleep in. I turned my back shyly and slipped into it. When I turned back he was looking at me quizzically. I blushed to the tips of my ears.

We got into bed and I curled up next to him, my forehead resting against his shoulder. He put his hand on my waist, his fingers lightly brushing the small of my back and I swallowed hard to chase away the shivers. Slowly and tentatively my hand crept across his chest. I looked up at him and he was looking down at me. Our lips met softly.

His hand worked its way slowly up inside the top I had just put on and rested alongside my breast. “Your heart is beating so fast” he commented. I shrugged again, I seemed to do that a lot with him, he left me at a loss for words.

Slowly and gently we explored one another with our fingers. I was in heaven. Breathing him in, my hands pressing against his chest, his back and up the back of his neck to those secret curls, hidden under layers of straight blonde hair. The door to the room opened and light flooded in. Tim shielded his eyes.

Standing in the doorway was a boy who had been introduced to me as Frank. He was stumbling drunk and he was looking for Spaulding. Tim advised him that Spaulding was sleeping and Frank blinked into the darkness. He squinted in my direction. “Do you have a chick up here?” Tim clarified that Frank was not welcome at the moment and Frank swayed in the doorway a few minutes. “Hey, is that a mirror on the ceiling?” he blurted out finally. I hid my face in Tim’s chest. I was beginning to giggle, but it was clear that Tim was not amused. Frank stumbled over to the bed and fell onto it, reaching out and blindly groping me with his free hand.

Tim’s hackles went up. It surprised me, the forceful possessiveness he suddenly adopted. “Don’t touch her Frank. Go home” But Frank didn’t heed. As Tim got more riled up, I became more interested in this side of him that he’d never shown to me before. “It’s ok” I found myself saying “he’s drunk, just let him pass out and be done with it.” We found a spot closer to the wall and resumed our activities. When Frank’s hand made another appearance, this time on my ass, there was nowhere left to go. At Tim’s insistence, we switched spots, and Tim so firmly fended off Frank’s next attempt to get in on the action that Frank stumbled out of the room.

Our bodies relaxed into one another. I was thrilled to find that I fit so comfortably up against him. Our torsos seemed perfectly matched so that as he grew his penis pressed up against me pleasingly. I was absorbed in kissing those lips. They were so soft and so red. I had gone to sleep so many nights dreaming of them and I never wanted to stop kissing them now. He rolled me over onto my back and climbed on top of me. He looked down at me, his long bangs tickling my forehead. “Are you ok?” he asked. I nodded, not trusting my voice not to betray me. He pressed his legs against the outside of my thighs and leaned his head down to kiss me again when I was struck in the face by a beam of light. I covered my face as Tim leapt off me and turned, visibly annoyed, to face the door.

Sally stood there. “Pria?” she asked. I peered through my fingers at her sillouette. “uhhuh?” I asked. “Um, I’m gonna go to bed soon, I just wondered…” her voice trailed off. “It’s ok Sal, I think I’ll sleep in here tonight” Sally looked at me uncertainly. She was far smarter than her 13 years would suggest but it was clear that she was unfamiliar with the situation. “Is everything ok?” she asked. “It’s fine Sally, it’s great in fact. I’ll see you in the morning ok?” She stood there a moment longer until Tim threw a pillow at her. “Get out Sally!” he demanded and she turned and scurried away. Tim rose and closed the door and came back to the bed.

He lay on his side next to me and after a few minutes of kissing he slid his hand under the waistband of my underpants. I gasped audibly as his fingers entered me and urgently pressed my body up against his. With his free hand he led one of mine down towards the waistband of his own pants, leaving my fingers hooked just under it. I reached down and took him into my hand when the door swung open again. Both my hands flew to my face now as Tim sat bolt upright. I made a noise of frustration. Tim’s sister’s voice floated through the darkness at me.

“Tim, Sally told me to tell you that she doesn’t need this from you right now”. I let out an exasperated sigh and raised my head to scowl at Sharon. “Who doesn’t need what from me exactly?” “I don’t know,” she looked at me uncertainly “Pria doesn’t need you raping her right now or something”. My head flopped back onto the pillow. “Shar, tell Sally I’m fine.” Sharon stood there, uncertainly a few more moments. I could feel Tim’s body, tense against my legs. I longed to hold him again, I longed to kiss him again but mostly I longed for a lock on that goddamned door.

Sharon’s fears finally assuaged, she left, once again leaving the door conspicuously open. Tim got up and shut it, then leapt on top of me. Our kisses were more fervent this time, our hands trying to make up for lost time, trying to get everything in before the next distraction. He slipped first one leg, then the other between mine and effortlessly pushed them apart. I could feel his penis pressing hard against me through my underpants. The door swung open again. Tim lay down on top of me and I buried my face in his neck. “What the fuck is it NOW?” Tim demanded.

His father’s voice rang through the room. “Boys, who’s up here?”. Tim answered. “Well, Spaulding and Karla are sleeping over there. I think there’s a few people asleep on the rug over there and me and umm…Pria, I think.” The door swung open a little wider, letting in more light. “I want the girls out of there now” Tim protested. “Now, Tim!” answered his father as he turned and strode to the stairs. Spaulding’s voice rose from the bed a few feet away from us. “I’m not waking my friends up to tell them they have to leave” he muttered petulantly, not nearly loud enough for his uncle to hear. Tim kissed my nose. “I’ll be right back” he promised.

I lay for a long time waiting for him. He came back and began to get dressed. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I’m going to my mom’s” he muttered. He put on some jeans, did a double take and took them off again. He had put on my jeans. He grabbed his motorcycle helmet, threw on his leather jacket and walked out. I slept fitfully that night and avoided his father the next day, grabbing a ride from a friend of a friend as far as the bus station to go home.

He called me the next day to apologize. He was at his mother’s place, but it was packed to the rafters with bikers at present or he’d invite me by. We’d see each other soon though. We would always see each other soon.



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