“Thank, you, mon amour.”
THE NAUGHTY YARD by Michael Hemmingson
YES, YES, OKAY now, it is time, you’ve been waiting long enough, it is indeed time, so gather around now, gather close, don’t be afraid to sit close to one another, maybe not too close, but close enough, all of us, around this fire, because it is story time now, it’s time for a story, a story set in the past, basically, you could even categorize this as an historical romance if you will, set in a time when there wasn’t so much fear about getting close, fear about sex amp;death, that horrid thing called AIDS was just around the corner like some foolish kid on his bike, going too fast and not looking where he’s destined – although right now (the time of this parable) it was rather remote and not widespread; you see, it is when this yarn begins, and people were happily careless when it came to (sex), careless because there was not that (fear of death), and you may not believe it now (but history proves this), as this tale (which is history) will prove it, and we will begin with the opening scene, as such: inside one of the bedrooms of a two bedroom apartment in Southern California, where we find a petite young lady of twenty-three, dark-haired, modestly tanned, in bed with myself, and her name happens to be, for the sake of this text, Kathy, she is in bed with me and we are making love, we are fucking, call it what you will, because this girl – Kathy – this girl and I don’t even know each other that well – I mean, we know each other, we’re friends as such, we have been friends for quite a while, were lovers for some time, until she called it off, called it off for a few months – that is, until this night in question here, where we have connected again, we are fucking again: at her proposal – you see, we were at this bar, drinking, talking, drinking amp;drinking (she loves beer) and we came back here, to her place, and we went into her bedroom and started to take off our clothes and then, well, you get the gist of the scenario; NEVERTHELESS, so here we are, so there we were, Kathy amp;myself, myself amp;Kathy, on her bed (which happens to be a noisy bed) the springs going eeeech eeeech with each thrust of myself into Kathy’s self, eeeech eeeech goes the bed, and she’s moaning. I’m moaning, we are, in fact, enjoying the moment, and – and I feel myself coming, yes yes yes, you understand this feeling (both you men and women listening to this), the intensity, you know it, the joy joy joy, this sudden moment where the world is ready to come apart like a badly stitched garment, where the Universe itself is on the verge of imminent collapse, as this bed is on the margin of destruction, and I come, I scream, I empty my balls into Kathy’s warm cunt (making it warmer), and in that brief moment I frightfully think of the moon, and Beth, my darling Beth now gone from me, but I push these baneful head things away for this is neither the time nor place, I should concentrate on Kathy, and Kathy grabs at me, legs in the air, going yes yes yes, come, and I am: and when I am done, I fall on her, she doesn’t mind, she rubs her hands up my back, into my hair, and I roll off her, light a cigarette, and she watches me as I smoke (she doesn’t smoke), my come starting to leak out of her, her pussy red and still open, and she watches me and she says I’m spent and she says (head propped up on pillow as Jackie Collins always puts it in her books) she says I feel good you know I’m glad you decided to come over.
I say that I am glad she invited me over.
She says well you know there we were, sitting in that bar again, that same bar we used to always go to, having the same drinks we always used to drink, and you know we were talking about all this amp;that, bric amp;brac, but you know I wasn’t really listening to what you were gabbing about.
I say you weren’t listening to me?
She says I wasn’t listening to us. She says I just kept saying to myself in my head I really want to fuck him tonight.
I tell her I had the same thoughts.
She says I was just thinking you know like we used to do.
I say it was nice the just-like-we-used-to-do – and then it stopped and there was no more just-like-we-used-to-do.
Kathy says maybe I was dumb to stop our just-like-we-used-to-dos.
I say yes you were yes you were.
There are two bottles of wine on the floor. One empty, one full. I pick up the full one, which isn’t all that full, and take a drink.
Kathy says well you aren’t supposed to say that, that’s not what you’re supposed to say. What you’re supposed to say is: no, Kathy my dear Kathy, you weren’t being dumb you were just confused so there’s a difference.
I say I was angry.
She says you didn’t show it.
No?
Maybe I wasn’t watching.
Watching?
She says you acted – I dunno. You didn’t seem all that angry; or hurt; I wasn’t sure if you cared or not.
I say no I guess I didn’t show it; I never do; I should have; I think I could have; if I had set my mind on it.
She says I didn’t know you were mad at me.
I say well not real mad.
Good.
I didn’t understand, that’s all.
She says there’s nothing really to understand.
I drink.
She says maybe I was afraid.
Afraid?
She says you used to make me nervous.
I say I don’t know what nervous is.
She says I think you still do.
What?
Make me nervous.
What?
She laughs and takes the wine bottle from me and says just kidding.
I hope so.
Don’t look at me like you’re hurt.
Maybe I am.
She drinks some wine and says are you?
Sure.
She says well oh well a lot of men make me nervous you know what I mean?
A lot of men?
Men in general.
General men?
She says you don’t make me nervous anymore.
No?
Nope. Awww contrary… she smiles and drinks wine and I light another cig and she looks around her room and she says to me I don’t know why I feel that way; I mean about men. Most of my friends have been men. Are men. Boys, men, guys, you know. The opposite sex and stuff. I’ve never really had any girlfriends, any close women friends. Female bonding! I don’t think I have ever been able to identify with women. Other ladies. Girls. They’re all strangers to me. Don’t have anything to do with them, except for a few obvious parts.
She adds to this by saying I’ll never make it as a feminist, Mike.
I say to her but you were telling me about your roommate.
She says Cynthia, yes, we met at work.
I say I thought you said school.
She says school, work – the job I had on campus; the campus work.
I nod.
She says we are pretty good friends. Much more than just roommates. We talk; we even talk about men.
I say well there you go: female bonding.
She says I was telling you about that bar Cynthia and I went to last week? was I saying that? was I telling you that?
I think so.
She says the same bar we went to six months ago.
I say well we’ve been to a lot of bars.
She says it was that 50s revival bar; all the guys in there looked like James Dean.
Yeah; okay.
She gives me back the bottle and says I went there last week but it has changed style, has changed clientele; it’s turned into a gay bar. Not discriminatory: men and women. We didn’t know this at first; we just went in. I wondered what happened to all the James Deans. Anyway, Cynthia and me were sitting and drinking some beers and we started to play some pool, just minding our own beeswax, when this drunk woman, in her late forties or so, comes up to us and she starts talking to us and her hair’s really dirty and she kinda stinks, she has on this funky dress and ratty old coat, and she smells like vodka or something, and she just stands there watching us and she says real loud-like I’m a dyke and I’m proud of it! I wanted her to go away. Cynthia gives me a funny look and this lady says wanna go have some reeeeealll fun, honey? So I tell her well I’m not your type and she says not my type and I go no and she goes don’t you lie to me I know a bitch dyke when I see one and I can tell that your sweet mouth has been muff-diving aplenty.