“Hey,” I whispered gently, “let me fuck your mouth, ’kay?”
She nodded and she knelt on the ground and I stood up and my bathing suit was stripped to my ankles then stepped out of. In the gentle fall breeze, I was as young as I would ever be again, my skin tanned brown from a long summer.
“Go ahead—slap me,” Ashley said, giggling. “Are you scared?”
“God, no,” I said, with something like open devotion. “Watch out.” And I aimed and the open palm of my hand made contact with the skin of her face. The impact produced a loud crack! Ashley reeled back from the force of the blow, a surprised cry escaping her. Then she opened her mouth wide, and laughing, coy, like a little girl, just kept on laughing and laughing. Soon, in amazement, I joined her. Laughing.
“Boy, that’s nothing!” she bragged. “Nothing!”
“You think this is funny, huh?” I whispered. I tried a low growl at her, exploring how that felt. To growl. My blood was suddenly pounding and hot. I bit my bottom lip, in some weird version of desire and power, something high and poisonous. I tried to burn holes in her with my dangerous eyes.
“Actually,” she taunted, “I think you’re funny.”
I slapped at her again, catching ear this time. She fell back, laughing, and delighted, leapt up to kiss me in the mouth. I seized her, let me fuck you and kill you, baby, and we both cackled and I pressed my arms around her rib cage in love and in hunger and she used her shoulders, muscular and firm, to pry herself from my grasp. Suddenly free, she yelped, giggling, and made for the pool. I dived in after her.
The cold shock of the water clawed at my heart, narrowing my lust into a kind of laser beam. And despite liking Ashley a lot moments earlier, when I was massaging her, now I just sort of wanted to chop off her head. Regaining my balance, I wriggled through the cold depths, finding her perfect body and, seizing it by the waist, I tried to pull her underneath. She gasped, fought against me, laughing and desperately begging, clawing my shoulders with pin-sharp nails.
‘You fucker,” she laughed. “I hate you.”
“I’m crazy for you,” I whispered back.
I held her tight until she ceased to struggle. I could feel her beat against me. We floated there for a moment, soft and still. She dragged her palms slowly over the thick cords of my neck, watching me, tongue touching her teeth, naughty and expectant. We kissed there slowly, her long arms looping around my neck, me supporting the soft weight of her in the water like father and daughter. Slowly, as if in benediction, I placed my two hands on her face. And slowly, with all the love inside me, I began to push her head beneath the surface of the water. She struggled against me, but I was stronger. Bubbles rose as she gradually submerged, her hair floating satin-like atop its veneer.
She stayed down there for a very long time. When she surfaced, I came to meet her and she took me into her hands, my heart hammering mightily. I was dizzy. Pulsating. And as she drew into me, onto me, she said shh, shh, so as to comfort me. But then I noticed that it was she who was shaking. Ashley was crying. She sobbed gracefully and soundlessly, her rib cage and stomach contracting and shaking while I held her face in my hand, gripping it, feeling her maxillary bone, the skeleton of her head, the wonder of her teeth.
I kissed her head, the top of her head, kissed her temple and her wet hair. I floated there with her until she was done.
“Hey, let me ask you something.”
Ashley and I were upstairs in the shower together. Warm water was coming down on both of us and I was soaping her body, kissing the back of her neck. Some kind of romantic, postdrug, love-like feeling was seeping out of me and landing on Ashley Moore. Maybe it was misdirected emotion for Liz.
“Yeah?”
“Did you used to get slapped around when you were a kid?” “Honestly?” She looked back at me for a second.
‘Yeah, honestly.”
Long pause. “Uhhmmm, yeah.” Ashley pushed past me and turned off the water. Stepping out of the shower, she reached for a thick white towel. “I was always told I was a bad little girl.”
“Who told you that?”
‘You know ... fucking ... Poppy.”
But then she clucked her tongue, as if to offset the seriousness of the remark. “Oh come on. I went to Catholic school. The nuns were worse. The fuckin’ nuns, dude, with their rulers! They were hardcore.”
“Did you .. . like it?”
“No,” said Ashley. She took a quick look at me and dried off her right leg. Then, remembering, she reached for the other towel and handed it to me.
I dried myself off as best as I could, still standing in the shower. I paused for a long moment, then coughed awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” I said. “That was... dumb. It’s none of my business.”
Ashley shrugged. “It’s okay. I don’t really care. Look, I don’t know. I mean, you can’t beat me right away, then I just get mad. But in sex I like to be told, sit the fuck down, and shut the fuck up.”
I laughed. It was this relieved sound. ‘You’re funny.”
‘Yeah, sure am,” said Ashley, grinning. “So? What about you?”
“I’m a deviant loser,” I explained. Already I was wondering: how would I tell Liz?
She smiled. “I know that.” She neared me, her voice softening. “I mean, did you used to get whacked around a lot?”
I looked at her, honestly surprised. “I never got hit in my life.”
Ashley tilted her head mildly at me, interested. “What’s wrong with you, then?”
I was still playing my cards close to the vest with Liz. The incident by the pool with Ashley would have to remain a secret, I decided. I’d lose Liz if I told the whole truth now. As it was, she’d refused to talk to me for an entire week after the night at her house. Hell, it felt like a miracle I’d even gotten her on the line now.
“I don’t know what to say, Sam,” Liz said. “You fucking hit me.” “I’m sorry I did that,” I said, chastened. “I really am sorry.” “What the hell was it all about?” said Liz.
“Um ...” I hesitated. “It’s really hard to put into words.”
“Well, you better start trying,” Liz said. I could almost hear her crossing her arms on the other end of the line. “And no bullshit, Sam.”
“Liz, I can’t. . .,” I groaned. There was silence on the other end.
“Okay. Fine.”
Another pause. “Still waiting.”
“Yeah,” I said, glumly. “You sure you really want to hear this?” “Jesus,” Liz exhaled. “You know, this is a waste of my time. So—” “Hold on,” I said. “I will try. I can’t explain it, but I’ll try my best, because you deserve that. Okay. Number one, I just, well, I like gagging. It turns me on.”
“Yeah, I remember that part,” Liz muttered.
“The, um, choking sounds good to me. God, this is embarrassing—do I really have to do this?”
“Just get it over with.”
“It feels good, too.”
“But why?” Liz said. She gave a small laugh, but it also sounded frustrated. “Why do you like this?”
“I don’t know. I wish I knew. It’s very aggressive? I’m a bully? I don’t know.”
“Try harder,” Liz said.
“Well, I like the way saliva looks and stuff. Drool.’
“Sam, that’s just gross.”
“But I can’t help it that this is what I like, can I?” I said, defensively.
“Did you always like this stuff?” Liz said suspiciously.
“No,” I admitted. “I just discovered it recently.”
“Pom,” she said. “It’s so obvious.”
“Don’t be such a Republican,” I said.
“No, seriously. Porn’s turned you into a gross human being. And I was here to watch it happen. Gross.”
“I think you’re wrong, Liz,” I said seriously. “People don’t do things just because they watched them happen in a movie. I’m not, like, going out and shooting people just because I watched Predator.” I sighed, put my feet up on the wall.