Stoner & Spaz by Ron Koertge Page A

says, “We could fool around, you know that? There’s nobody here but us.”
    I kiss her purple hair. “Are you sure? I don’t look too good with my clothes off.”
    “So show me, and I’ll decide. If I puke, well, then that’s that.”
    “Can we wait till it’s dark?”
    “You are such a girl. What do I need — a box of chocolates and a dozen roses? Look, I’ll take off my shirt, you take off your shirt.”
    “That’s not fair. I
want
to see your . . . you know . . . with your shirt off.”
    “Yeah? Well, maybe I want to see your arm.” She pulls up her Boy London tank top. “Tah-dah!”
    I just stare.
    She shrugs. “They’re little.”
    “No. They’re perfect. They’re great.”
    “Now show me your arm.”
    “You have to close your eyes.”
    She crawls right up to me, bringing a kind of haze of cigarettes and patchouli. She smells blue. Not blue as in sad, either. Azure. That blue. “I’ll help you.”
    The next thing I know my Ralph Lauren shirt is open. She tugs it out of my khakis, pulls the left shoulder down.
    “Colleen, don’t.”
    “Shut up. You want somebody’s eyes closed, close your own.”
    I feel the cool air on my stomach and chest.
    “Huh.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means ‘huh.’ As in, big fucking deal.”
    “It’s not ugly?”
    “A little, but so what? Bodies are really interesting. All the shit that happens to them, and they just don’t quit.” She takes my good hand. “C’mon.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “Pittsburgh.”
    I tug at her until she stops. “Look, when we get in the bedroom, don’t pay any attention to my bad side, okay? Just concentrate on the good side.”
    On the way I manage to get part of my shirt back on. Colleen, however, steps right out of her shorts, peels off her tank top, sits on the edge of the bed, and slips out of her underpants.
    “Hey, why am I the only one with her clothes off?”
    “Nobody,” I say, “has ever seen me naked. I don’t look at myself naked.”
    “Come over here, and I’ll help.”
    I shake my head. “No way. You’ll look.”
    “Probably.”
    “What if you turn your back and I undress and get into bed?”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “I know. It’s like a Doris Day movie, but . . .”
    “If that’s what it takes, fine. We’ll do it your way.”
    I hobble around to the other side of the bed. “This is going to take a little while.”
    “Should I go get
Moby Dick
?”
    “Just don’t look.”
    I struggle out of my clothes. It feels weird to just drop things on the floor. Grandma hates that. But I do it, anyway.
    I ask Colleen if she’s looking.
    “What do you care? You’ve got your back to me.”
    “Are you under the covers?”
    “No.”
    “Are you going to get under the covers?”
    “If you are, Doris.”
    As quick as I can, I pull back the Navajo-print comforter. Colleen slides over beside me.
    “Jesus, Ben. Your feet are freezing.”
    “I’m scared.”
    She kisses me on the forehead. “Honey, relax. The rest is easy.”
    I reach for my khakis, fumble in one pocket, then hold up the condom. “I’ve got this.”
    “That’s cool.”
    “I, uh, think it takes two hands to, you know, install it.”
    She grabs the condom, tears the foil with her teeth, then puts it on with alarming dexterity.
    “There you go,” she says. “All dressed up for the party.”
    “What now?”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “Not totally.”
    “You’ve never seen an X-rated movie?”
    “A couple.”
    “Well, that’s how we do it.”
    I turn to face her. “But those people are getting paid. They might not even like each other. Isn’t it different if you like the other person?”
    She leans over and kisses me. “You’re gonna be fine. It’ll be fine.”
    “What’s Ed like?” Boy, that jumped out by itself.
    “In bed? Do you really want to know?”
    “No. Yes.”
    She frowns like it’s a hard question on a test. “Ed’s relentless. And kind of industrial, you know?” She moves