She slides down the incline and slaps dirt from the seat of her shorts as she walks towards Mel. Her eyes flash with amusement. She stands in front of him almost nose to nose while he flips through his wallet. “Just one cola?” Her hair, a frizzy loose cloud, obscures Mel’s view of Elsa. He hands her a dollar. Her fingers close around it as she leans forward and says the words softly: “Elsa says she’s not a virgin.”
Mel’s throat goes dry as he watches Jill climb up the slope again and wind her way among the trees. She’s like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, he thinks, as he watches bits of Jill, the glimmer of a tanned calf, forearm, a swatch of pink cotton, flit away among the black tree trunks and into the deep shadows. He’s aware of Elsa in the foreground holding up a little mirror, the aura of gold around her head as branches sway in a light breeze and a beam of sunlight shines through her wispy curls. His body pulses with heat.
“Melville,” Elsa says. She uses his full name and Mel wishes Jill hadn’t told her. “Why don’t you come and sit down.”
“Sure.” To his surprise he feels his legs propel him forward. He still believes that’s all he will do, sit beside her and wait for Jill to return. That this may be the time he needs to ask her to go to the dance with him. She’ll say yes and he’ll enter the gym with her beside him and see all eyes turn, evaluating, second-guessing Mel Barber. Mel studies his father when he returns from the road, howhis bloodshot eyes still peer over the rim of the steering wheel, steady on some fixed and predictable destination, the slump of his narrow shoulders beneath his white shirt, its starch gone soft, saying “ordinary” to Mel. He feels pity and something else that he will come to identify later as being contempt. Elsa is different. He, Mel, will be different. “Sit,” Elsa says. She reaches out and pulls him down beside her on the cool, damp ground.
Mel has studied the bawdy cartoons that from time to time exchange hands. The most lewd of all is one titled “What Happened When They Put Spanish Fly in the Office Cooler.” Couples in an office are depicted in various positions of copulation. To Mel, every position seems equally erotic. Sometimes Mel studies the cartoon characters’ faces. The women all wear ecstatic smiles, signifying bliss, and the men leer. Only the women have drunk from the tainted cooler, Mel supposes, because the men’s crooked smiles indicate that they think they have just pulled one off. But mostly Mel studies the act itself, engorged penises entering female bodies, and he thinks that he doesn’t care what position, he just wants to do it. And Elsa had assisted him. When he fumbled, searching for the way inside her, she held him and shifted her pelvis and guided him. The moment he felt her heat, he groaned, realizing that he couldn’t hold back, he was going over the top.
Elsa lies beneath him. Her rib cage rises and falls against him and her breath is warm against his chest. When he opens his eyes he sees his curled fist against the brown earth, the skin scraped away by the tree. It’s as though the hand belongs to someone else. “Heavy,” Elsa murmurs.
Mel pushes himself up and off her body in one swift movement. He feels himself slide back inside his own body. He averts his eyes from the sight of Elsa’s milky-white torso as he stands up and steps around her. He walks down to the damaged tree and stands there, plunging his hands deep into his pockets and whistling softlythrough his teeth to deny the creeping sense of disappointment. What he does with himself in secret is a desperate act inspired by images of Spanish fly in the office cooler. He thought that the real thing would be more intense than a small shudder of pleasure. He thought there would be arms holding, mouths kissing. But Jill had barely disappeared among the trees when Elsa lay down. She’d flung her arms above her head, a bent knee swaying lazily.
Mel’s throat goes dry as he watches Jill climb up the slope again and wind her way among the trees. She’s like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, he thinks, as he watches bits of Jill, the glimmer of a tanned calf, forearm, a swatch of pink cotton, flit away among the black tree trunks and into the deep shadows. He’s aware of Elsa in the foreground holding up a little mirror, the aura of gold around her head as branches sway in a light breeze and a beam of sunlight shines through her wispy curls. His body pulses with heat.
“Melville,” Elsa says. She uses his full name and Mel wishes Jill hadn’t told her. “Why don’t you come and sit down.”
“Sure.” To his surprise he feels his legs propel him forward. He still believes that’s all he will do, sit beside her and wait for Jill to return. That this may be the time he needs to ask her to go to the dance with him. She’ll say yes and he’ll enter the gym with her beside him and see all eyes turn, evaluating, second-guessing Mel Barber. Mel studies his father when he returns from the road, howhis bloodshot eyes still peer over the rim of the steering wheel, steady on some fixed and predictable destination, the slump of his narrow shoulders beneath his white shirt, its starch gone soft, saying “ordinary” to Mel. He feels pity and something else that he will come to identify later as being contempt. Elsa is different. He, Mel, will be different. “Sit,” Elsa says. She reaches out and pulls him down beside her on the cool, damp ground.
Mel has studied the bawdy cartoons that from time to time exchange hands. The most lewd of all is one titled “What Happened When They Put Spanish Fly in the Office Cooler.” Couples in an office are depicted in various positions of copulation. To Mel, every position seems equally erotic. Sometimes Mel studies the cartoon characters’ faces. The women all wear ecstatic smiles, signifying bliss, and the men leer. Only the women have drunk from the tainted cooler, Mel supposes, because the men’s crooked smiles indicate that they think they have just pulled one off. But mostly Mel studies the act itself, engorged penises entering female bodies, and he thinks that he doesn’t care what position, he just wants to do it. And Elsa had assisted him. When he fumbled, searching for the way inside her, she held him and shifted her pelvis and guided him. The moment he felt her heat, he groaned, realizing that he couldn’t hold back, he was going over the top.
Elsa lies beneath him. Her rib cage rises and falls against him and her breath is warm against his chest. When he opens his eyes he sees his curled fist against the brown earth, the skin scraped away by the tree. It’s as though the hand belongs to someone else. “Heavy,” Elsa murmurs.
Mel pushes himself up and off her body in one swift movement. He feels himself slide back inside his own body. He averts his eyes from the sight of Elsa’s milky-white torso as he stands up and steps around her. He walks down to the damaged tree and stands there, plunging his hands deep into his pockets and whistling softlythrough his teeth to deny the creeping sense of disappointment. What he does with himself in secret is a desperate act inspired by images of Spanish fly in the office cooler. He thought that the real thing would be more intense than a small shudder of pleasure. He thought there would be arms holding, mouths kissing. But Jill had barely disappeared among the trees when Elsa lay down. She’d flung her arms above her head, a bent knee swaying lazily.
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