flaccid member.
They are lying on a twin bed in Jack’s guest room. Beyond the closed door are the not-so-muffled sounds of throbbing dance mixes, laughter, and drunken conversation. It’s been three days since Silver left Denise’s house and turned off his phone. A few hours ago Jack invited the college girls back from the pool for what he called a spontaneous suicide party. He gave a brief speech about Silver’s impending death, and then began pouring drinks. At some point Silver found himself pulled off the couch to dance. Everyone watched him for a while, until it became apparent that he wasn’t going to go into convulsions anytime soon. He would have felt like an idiot even if he weren’t wearing baggy Bermuda shorts and flip-flops. The girl dancing with him had long dark hair and wore a tank top and a pair of white short shorts under which her tanned legs shone in the phosphorous glow of the blue lightbulbs Jack had screwed into the fixtures.
Dancing with a pretty young thing can turn you on and make you feel like a potato at the same time. Silver surrendered to the moment. Someone handed out little red pills that looked like M&M’s. The dancing girl swallowed hers gleefully and then offered one to him.
“What is it?” Silver said.
“Trust me.”
She put it on her tongue and then opened her mouth, inviting. He trusted her. The waxy taste of lipstick and spearmint gum, a hint of sweat, the thrilling warmth of her tongue in his mouth.
“What’s your name?” he said when he reluctantly came up for air. She told him, and he forgot it instantly.
* * *
And now, through a sequence of events he can no longer recall, they are here, in this bed, her impossibly buoyant breasts hovering inches above his face, his wilting dick in her hand.
He’s never had erection problems before, but now seems as good a time as any to start. This girl whose name he can’t remember is young and beautiful, but he is old enough to be her father, is in fact the father of someone young and beautiful just like her.
“Wait here,” the girl says with a grin, and with no further ceremony, she goes down on him. It feels excruciatingly good for a minute, and then it doesn’t feel like anything at all, like he’s lost all sensation. He can hear the wet sounds of her working down there, but in the dark he feels utterly disconnected. After a moment she gives his dick one last, sorry kiss, like it’s a mischievous but ultimately well-intentioned nephew, then comes back up to where he is.
“What’s wrong?” she says.
Where does he begin?
* * *
After she’s gone back to the party, he waits an appropriate mourning period and then takes matters into his own hands. And maybe it’s all the practice he’s had at the clinic, but within three strokes his dick is standing tall and proud. He wishes what’s-her-name was still here to see it. It occurs to him that there might be something fantastically warped about being able to arouse himself better than the half-naked coed who just went down on him. There is, at least, a subtle metaphor to be divined in this unusual turn of events, but before he can wrap his scattered mind around it, the door opens up and Jack steps in with his arm around another pretty young thing. Jack is carrying two drinks, any one of which he manages not to drop as he and the girl come face to face with Silver, perched on the edge of the bed, clutching his manhood. The other glass shatters on the parquet floor.
And that’s when things get weird. Because Silver can feel himself spinning and rolling, yanking up his shorts as he goes, offering muttered apologies as he flees the room. But on another plane, he’s aware of the fact that he hasn’t actually moved at all, that he’s still sitting there, his fist wrapped around his member, staring up at them.
“What the fuck?” Jack says. The girl giggles, but not in a mean way. And then they’re gone, with only the light of the bathroom reflecting off the broken
They are lying on a twin bed in Jack’s guest room. Beyond the closed door are the not-so-muffled sounds of throbbing dance mixes, laughter, and drunken conversation. It’s been three days since Silver left Denise’s house and turned off his phone. A few hours ago Jack invited the college girls back from the pool for what he called a spontaneous suicide party. He gave a brief speech about Silver’s impending death, and then began pouring drinks. At some point Silver found himself pulled off the couch to dance. Everyone watched him for a while, until it became apparent that he wasn’t going to go into convulsions anytime soon. He would have felt like an idiot even if he weren’t wearing baggy Bermuda shorts and flip-flops. The girl dancing with him had long dark hair and wore a tank top and a pair of white short shorts under which her tanned legs shone in the phosphorous glow of the blue lightbulbs Jack had screwed into the fixtures.
Dancing with a pretty young thing can turn you on and make you feel like a potato at the same time. Silver surrendered to the moment. Someone handed out little red pills that looked like M&M’s. The dancing girl swallowed hers gleefully and then offered one to him.
“What is it?” Silver said.
“Trust me.”
She put it on her tongue and then opened her mouth, inviting. He trusted her. The waxy taste of lipstick and spearmint gum, a hint of sweat, the thrilling warmth of her tongue in his mouth.
“What’s your name?” he said when he reluctantly came up for air. She told him, and he forgot it instantly.
* * *
And now, through a sequence of events he can no longer recall, they are here, in this bed, her impossibly buoyant breasts hovering inches above his face, his wilting dick in her hand.
He’s never had erection problems before, but now seems as good a time as any to start. This girl whose name he can’t remember is young and beautiful, but he is old enough to be her father, is in fact the father of someone young and beautiful just like her.
“Wait here,” the girl says with a grin, and with no further ceremony, she goes down on him. It feels excruciatingly good for a minute, and then it doesn’t feel like anything at all, like he’s lost all sensation. He can hear the wet sounds of her working down there, but in the dark he feels utterly disconnected. After a moment she gives his dick one last, sorry kiss, like it’s a mischievous but ultimately well-intentioned nephew, then comes back up to where he is.
“What’s wrong?” she says.
Where does he begin?
* * *
After she’s gone back to the party, he waits an appropriate mourning period and then takes matters into his own hands. And maybe it’s all the practice he’s had at the clinic, but within three strokes his dick is standing tall and proud. He wishes what’s-her-name was still here to see it. It occurs to him that there might be something fantastically warped about being able to arouse himself better than the half-naked coed who just went down on him. There is, at least, a subtle metaphor to be divined in this unusual turn of events, but before he can wrap his scattered mind around it, the door opens up and Jack steps in with his arm around another pretty young thing. Jack is carrying two drinks, any one of which he manages not to drop as he and the girl come face to face with Silver, perched on the edge of the bed, clutching his manhood. The other glass shatters on the parquet floor.
And that’s when things get weird. Because Silver can feel himself spinning and rolling, yanking up his shorts as he goes, offering muttered apologies as he flees the room. But on another plane, he’s aware of the fact that he hasn’t actually moved at all, that he’s still sitting there, his fist wrapped around his member, staring up at them.
“What the fuck?” Jack says. The girl giggles, but not in a mean way. And then they’re gone, with only the light of the bathroom reflecting off the broken
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