Part 8 (1/2)
She laughs, but she wants me to hurry. I rip the package open and she takes it from me, has me roll over, but instead of putting it on me she bends forward and takes my p.e.n.i.s into her mouth. It feels wet, and warm, and I can feel her lips and tongue and even her teeth. I watch her in a sort of awe, her head moving slowly up and down. When she's done she gives the top a kiss and turns and smiles her brilliant smile at me, soft in the glow of the stereo. ”Just returning the favor,” she says, then puts the condom on me. ”There, now it's safe.”
”Boy, it was sure dangerous before.”
”Boys always make such a mess.” She falls down next to me in her soft, wonderful bed, spreads her legs, and says, ”Okay. I'm ready.”
She's giggling.
I move up and over her, and she wraps her legs around me and forces herself against me. I slide it back and forth across the top, in the soft groove, then pull it back an extra bit and then move forward. It slips inside, and Pris gives a startled cry and the a long, low moan. I love you, I think at her, I love you. I think it so loud I'm sure she has to hear it. I push at her for a few minutes but it's not good enough, so I grab her lithe body firmly in my arms and roll backwards.
She's so light, I don't even think she weighs a hundred pounds. I hold her whole body and thrust the way I think she likes it the most.
”Oh,” she says. ”Oh, we're standing up.” She likes it. I'm on my knees, upright, holding her. She's so light and I love her so much it's effortless. Encouraged, I get out of her bed and go walking around the room holding her, thrusting as I take each step. ”You're walking!” she says with a sense of wonder. ”Oh G.o.d, oh.” She likes it, she definitely likes it. She squirms wildly and cries out again, calling for G.o.d, then holds me tight and seems to shudder. Then she goes quiet and still, and I realize she had come to a climax.
I walk back to the bed, roll us into it, and end up on top, moving gently. She's staring into my eyes, caressing my hair, a warm smile on her lips. She looks tired. I let go, closing my eyes and letting it go, and within seconds I'm coming. But it seems distant, far away, like I'm feeling the echoes of an o.r.g.a.s.m from some guy down the hall. Maybe it's that the o.r.g.a.s.m is so unimportant to me. I just don't care about it.
Still smiling, she says, ”Was it good for you?”
I laugh. ”Yes.”
”Mmmm. That's good. It was very good.”
”Want me to get a towel or something?”
”Nah.”
I pull out, then look around at the room. ”Where should I put it?”
”Wastebasket, silly.” Her eyes are closed. ”Unless you want to sleep with it.”
I get out of bed, then carefully pull off the disgusting rubber sack. I wrap it in a tissue, toss it into a wastebasket, then climb back in bed. She turns toward me, wraps her arms around one of mine, and says ”G'night.” Within minutes she's sound asleep.
I watch her, feeling love flowing like the raging of a river. I just watch her. It's hours before I get to sleep.
5. ACQUIRED PERCEPTION.
I wake up and Pris is already out of bed and wearing a robe. ”Good morning,” she says brightly.
”What time is it?”
”Eight. I've got to rush and get to work. You can go back to sleep if you want.”
She has to take the Muni train to work, which is why she has to rush. ”I'll give you a ride to work,” I tell her.
”No, that's okay.”
”Then you won't have to be in such a hurry.”
”You don't have to.”
”I'd like to.”
”Oh, okay.” She's indifferent. Little alarm bells starting ringing in my brain. I don't want her to be indifferent. ”You want some breakfast?” she asks. ”I've got some frozen waffles in the refrigerator.”
”No, thank you. I don't eat food in the morning.”
”Neither do I. The waffles were for Tom.” She grabs a towel off a hook on the wall. ”I wonder what Heather is feeding him.” There's bitterness in her voice.
”He's in Berkeley.”
”No. I called over there at seven. He's not there.”
Seven? She got up at seven and called the apartment? Why? I don't ask her, however; she's already left the room, gone to take a shower.
What day is this, I wonder. Thursday? I've got cla.s.s at 10:00, and Tom doesn't have to show up at work at any specific time --- he's usually there until 8:30 or so on a Thursday morning.
Then I think to myself: Does my cla.s.s start at 10:00 or 10:30? Or was that a dream? G.o.d, I think to myself, I hope it was a dream. It's upsetting that I'm unsure. Because if it wasn't, then that whole mixed up day wasn't. No, I think, that was the day I was tired all day. Most of it must have been a dream I had during that nap after my last cla.s.s.
While Pris is in the shower I put on my clothes and make an attempt at combing my hair, which is all distorted and wild. Pris comes back in, her hair wrapped in a towel. She smiles at me, and says, ”I like your hair like that.”
”Messy?”
”Wild. You look like a surfer dude.”
”Nerk.” I look in the mirror. Actually, it's not that bad, really.
”What is nerk?” Pris asks.
”What?”
”Nothing. I didn't understand what you said.”
”Nerk?”
”Nerk? What is nerk?”
”It's an expression denoting amused frustration at an ironic or . . . wait a minute, you were using it last night.”
”I was?”
”Yeah, I----” I break off, searching for the blue paperback dictionary she'd thrown on the floor last night. It's not there. I look through her bookshelves, and can't find it there, either. ”Where's your dictionary?”
She pulls out a red paperback from the bookshelf. I take it in numb fingers and look though the pages. I already know the word ”nerk” is not going to be there. Sure enough. I hand it back.
”Is something wrong?” she says.