It was hard to get the woman out of the trailer. She had to provide instructions for every possible contingency that might crop up during her absence. But finally Joanne was out the door, and they heard the Hyundai pull out and head off down the road.
“She gone.”
“Yes.”
“So who the fuck—” a ragged breath “are you?”
Who the fuck was she?
Well, that was easy. She told him she’d met him just once, at a bar in the West Twenties. That they’d gone back to her apartment where he’d spent the night before returning to his unit in Iraq.
He seemed to remember. Remembered the bar, thought he was in the wrong place with all the gays there, and then he got lucky after all. He remembered that. Remembered her, sort of. But her name, Pam—
“Well, I probably gave you a different name.”
But her real name was Pam?
“Yes, Pamela, Pam for short. Pam Headley.”
She’d come this close to saying Hedgemont, then remembered that was the name of the town. Changed it to Headley at the last moment.
And what was she doing there? She fumbled her way to an answer. She’d remembered his name, Googled it one day on a whim, and decided it wouldn’t take her that far out of her way to stop by and see him. She hadn’t known he’d been wounded, hadn’t known anything, and the last thing she wanted to do was intrude. But here she was, and if there was anything she could do for him—
“One thing.”
“What?”
Hesitation. As if he was afraid to tell her what he wanted.
Well, sure. Looking as he did, reduced to what he’d become, the cocksure quality that had struck her years ago was nowhere to be found.
“If it’s sexual,” she said, “anything at all, just tell me. I won’t have a problem with it. Whatever you want, just tell me.”
“Sex.”
“Whatever you’d like me to do—”
“Can’t feel anything.”
“Oh.”
“Neck down. Nothing.”
“I just thought—”
“Sometimes it gets hard.”
“It does?”
He got it out, one ragged phrase at a time. He had no sensation there, but sometimes he got erections, and when it happened he knew it, sensed it somehow even without sensation. If his head was in the right position he could look down and see it.
And eventually it would go soft again, because he didn’t have a hand to jerk off with, and couldn’t have moved it if he did, or felt anything in either his hand or his penis. He’d tried to come by mental effort, tried to increase his excitement by thinking sexual thoughts, trotting out old memories, working up new fantasies. He let his thoughts run the gamut, tender, violent, aberrant. He’d entertain the memory or the fantasy for awhile, and then his erection would subside, and that would be that.
Once or twice, though, he’d come very close while he was sleeping. Almost had a wet dream a time or two. Woke up, though, before he could climax, and that was as far as it went.
Jesus, she thought.
“Is it hard now?”
“Can’t see. But no, can tell it’s not.”
“May I see?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. A sheet covered his lower body, and she drew it down to mid-thigh. His penis was soft, and her hand went to it automatically, held it gently.
“Can you feel anything?”
“No.”
“But you like that I’m holding it.”
“Yeah.”
“And you can tell that I’m holding it, can’t you? I mean, of course you can, you can see what I’m doing, but let’s try something. Close your eyes, and I’ll hold it and then not hold it, like off and on, and you’ll know when I’m holding it and when I’m not. At least I think you will. Can we try that? Can you close your eyes?”
Eye, she thought. He only had one eye to close. Was it wrong to say what she’d said?
Well, it didn’t seem to matter. And he’d closed both eyes, anyway, because that’s how the eyelids seemed to work, you closed or opened them both at once, the real one and the glass one.
She played with him, fondled him. Then let go of him. Then held him again.
“You can tell, can’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Even if you can’t feel anything, you can tell. So deep inside somewhere, you’re feeling it. Your mind just doesn’t know it.”
“Maybe.”
“You have a beautiful penis. I don’t want to stop touching it. It doesn’t matter if it’s hard or soft. It’s just beautiful.”
And it was, sort of. In a sense it was just a dick, and God knows she’d seen enough of them in her time, but she was connecting with it in a way that was, well, getting her hot. He couldn’t feel anything, and she was getting hot. Go figure that one.
“I want it in my mouth,” she told him. “I want to suck that beautiful cock, and play with your balls, and stick my finger up your ass. I want it for me, see, and I don’t give a shit whether you can feel anything or not. But you’re gonna feel it, Alan, even if the message doesn’t get all the way to your brain. Your cock’s gonna feel it. It’s gonna get hard as a fucking rock and I’m gonna suck it and suck it and suck it and you’re gonna come like crazy and I’m gonna swallow every drop. Every fucking drop, you hear me?”
“Alan?”
His eyes opened, and the good one met hers and held it. Was it clearer now? Was there a light in it that hadn’t been present earlier?
“Did you feel any of that?”
He took a moment. Then he said, “I knew when it happened.”
“Was there pleasure?”
“Kind of.”
“There was for me. I had an orgasm.”
“Don’t have to say that.”
“It’s true.”
“Yeah?”
“I was touching myself, but I think I would have come anyway. It was all intensely hot for me. I’m glad you got Joanne to give us some time alone. I guess this is what you had in mind.”
“No.”
“Or something like it, and if there’s anything else—”
“Different.”
“Oh?”
“You wouldn’t do it.”
“Wouldn’t do what? Alan, anything you want me to do, all you have to do is ask.”
His eye bored into hers. There was something there but it was hard to read.
“You’re afraid to tell me what you want.”
“Yeah.”
“Because of what I’ll think of you? Alan, I won’t—”
“Don’t care what you think of me.”
“Then why—”
“Because you won’t do it.”
“I can’t if you won’t tell me what it is.”
“Only thing I want.”
She waited. That would do it, she knew. If she just waited him out, sooner or later he’d tell her.
“Pam...”
Still waited.
“Kill me.”
Words and phrases, spilling out in fits and starts:
Can’t stand it. Nothing to live for. Can’t get better. Can’t keep from getting worse. Dying by inches. Sis won’t let me die. ‘Bubba, you’re all I live for.’ Jesus. ‘Bubba, together we’ll keep you going.’ Sweet Jesus. ‘Bubba, keeping you alive’s what keeps me alive.’ Only person ever loved me and I’m starting to hate her because she won’t let me fucking die.