Fiction

Key West

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 FICTION
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Mike was ten years younger than me. When he told me he was back on the coke, I slapped his face, both cheeks, really hard. I’d found him at our neighborhood haunt, all iced out with some bartender slut. He saw me there and couldn’t even speak. A fucking corpse with ass-red eyes. I had taught him how to go down on a girl.

Lastminute.com had a deal to Key West the next day. It was Spring Break, balmy, girls gone wild. A multitude of dudes who’d get down with no strings.

The room at my motel didn’t face the water. Rows of blue metal balconies from the hotel across the street had towels and bathing suits on top of each other. A blonde girl in a T-shirt and thong bikini bottoms was shaking out her wet hair. Then this

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guy with a crew cut and sunglasses around his neck came out of the screen doors behind her. I saw his face, his mouth twitch, as he watched her bent over shaking. He was holding an ice bucket filled with beers. Still holding the bucket, he slapped her ass. The girl bolted up and screamed as if she didn’t like it. But the guy slapped her again and she started laughing, high, kind of hiccup laughs — it hurts, stop! It hurts! Her ass was burnt in big red blotches.

It was around five o’clock in the afternoon. The sun was filling up the air. I put on my red bikini under one of those see-through white beach things that tries to cover up your thighs. I pinned my room key to a spot at my waist and headed out with nothing else.

I made it as far as Mallory Square. The ocean looked like a tank of glass. People were shopping at arts-and-crafts stands. I sat down on a bench, wanted a drink, something to highlight the fucking sights: a bunch of white girls getting their hair done in braids, fritters for sale, green slices of pie. Clowns rode by on unicycles.

Why did I think I’d want to fuck these zinc-nosed beefs in sandals and shorts? I thought about Mike and his slut doing lines in the john. His hand on the back of her skull as she sucked his cock fast, his face red, butt clenched, them rattling the stall.

I shook my head to clear the thoughts. I couldn’t take another breath.

It must’ve been a while before I noticed this gangly hippy-type with a camel-hump paunch. He had a long white beard intertwined with black stingers. He smiled at me and moved through the crowd. He walked by maybe three or four times. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing I was supposed to respond to, except he kept zigzagging closer. I looked like a tourist. He looked like a local. I was waiting for his dancing around me to stop.

Mike always held my hair in a ponytail when I blew him, moved my head by the throat up and down his whole dick.

"That’s one hot-pink ass of a sun."

"Anything goes down here, you know."

The hippy was standing in front of me. I think I laughed. I smelled hooch. He had a one-hit pipe in his palm.

Reggae music started to play. This guy was a Jerry Garcia-type, frizzy hair and drooping cheeks, but his lips were fleshy, practically purple, jutting out like a flower on a bush. I wondered if he was actually trying to pick me up.

I took the dugout. My chest kind of fluttered as the guy lit it and closed the lever for me. I think I got the biggest hit of my life. I passed the thing back and tried not to cough. The sunset got fuzzy. I leaned back into the bench. The guy sat down next to me.

"All the freaks used to come down here high on Cid to watch Atlantis rising," he said. His voluptuous mouth moved around in a circle.

Really quickly, I felt too stoned. I wanted to sleep. It was hot. There were hairs on his knuckles. I stared at the guy’s forearm, tan and bowed. A soft green tattoo hid under the hairs. I realized he was holding my hand.

"Anything goes down here, you know."

My bikini bottoms were stuck to the bench with sweat because I’d been sitting there watching the crowds for so long. I made my legs stand. I started to laugh. The guy smiled at me but stayed put on the bench. I tried to pull myself away. We were still holding hands. My limbs felt all warm from how he was gripping. I saw the way he was checking out my ass. I got pulses in my cunt. The air was turning purple. It was like he had his mouth down there.

     

  

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Mike never went down how I went down.

The guy finally stood up. "Come on," he said.

We walked together along Duval. The patios were loud with girls. People drank from big plastic cups.

I followed the guy down a laneway and into a yellow hotel. It was made of wood, three stories high. Side by side, we soared up the stairs, through a dim papered hallway and into his room. The first thing I noticed was a hot plate on the dresser. A king-size bed was piled with sheets.

The guy let go of my hand to close some curtains. The heat that had been in my ass turned to ice. "What do you want to do?" I asked fast.

The guy opened a bottle of rum and took a long swig. Then he passed it over. He was watching me, smiling, that same fat-lipped beam that had gotten me here. I took a swig and passed it back.

"I’m a little nervous," I admitted, finding his eyes. I didn’t know if they were gray or green.

The guy sat on his bed. I felt a hot breeze.

I turned, faced the drapes. Relieved, I think, not to look at him.

"Why don’t you take off your bottoms," he said.

My heart beat in jumps. I turned, faced the drapes. Relieved, I think, not to look at him.

I pulled the cover-up over my head. My bathing suit was still stuck to my skin. My fingers tried to get under the elastic. It was as if my ass had started to swell and the panties couldn’t fit over. It took a while to peel them off. The bathing-suit bottoms got stretched around my thighs. I wiggled and tried to push them down more. Then I just stood there, swaying, thinking I was standing still.

"That’s good," the guy said. "But you can really show me your ass."

I wasn’t sure what he meant. I felt weak-kneed, prickly, high in a fresh gust. My bathing-suit bottoms were strapped at my knees.

I heard the sheets, then his feet, then a few quick hoarse breaths. The guy took either side of my waist and bent me over like he was breaking a stick. He pinched my ass in his hands and spread me wide open. The guy left me like that, asshole clutched, head to the floor. He sat real close at the edge of his bed. I saw him smiling upside-down through my thighs.

A balloon was puffing up my cunt. I still felt his hands where I had to take mine. I spread my ass like he’d just done. All the hair and darkness lodged in there. I knew the guy was watching my pussy, too, it was hanging there pressing, sopping wet. I stood stuck and swaying, desperate to fuck. I started to moan. I was jiggling around. I’d never showed myself to anyone like this. He let me be there a really long while. Until I relaxed. Until I felt like my ass was my face.

Suddenly, I burst into tears.

I heard the guy underneath my sobs: "Come here. Turn around."

"Wait, I have to tell you something," I said, standing up quick. There were black spots moving in front of my eyes. "My ass feels funny, it’s turned into my face."

The next thing I knew, I was laughing so hard. We were both on the floor. The guy’s pants were down. My tits were coming out of my bikini. I was bucking around on top of him, telling him how I wanted to fuck. He was saying, wait I’m going to eat out your ass.

Rolling around on the carpet, my back smacked flat down. He held me there, just one arm had me pinned. The guy lifted my legs, hung them over his shoulders. I saw his head descend like the sun.

"Why’ve you been hiding your kinky little ass?"

I squeezed my eyes shut the moment it happened. The scratch of his beard, his wet lips down my crack. The guy moved his head from side to side, splaying my ass cheeks wide with his face. His tongue reached my asshole. I screamed. It went in. I lifted myself up on my elbows to see. He was feasting on my fucking behind. I was fainting inside. Each push of his tongue made me hump up and cream.

Next day on the beach with the new Houellebecq, I felt sluggish, giddy, my pussy still hot. I stared past the oiled-up girls to the sea.

There were black spots moving in front of my eyes. "My ass feels funny, it’s turned into my face."

This dude in pink sunglasses came up from my left and started giving my tits and legs the once-over.

"Bunch of us are going to Sloppy Joe’s after sunset . . . " he said kind of anxiously, eyes peeled to my crotch.

I shifted my ass on the towel for him. The guy’s stomach was bare, his balls probably shaved.

"They got half-price beers and daiquiris."

My bikini bottoms were sucked up my crack, pussy and ass one single line.

"So . . . you wanna come?" he persisted.

"Sure. I’ll come."

"A-one!" he shouted.

I noticed the bulk of his back as he jogged away.

We’d passed by Sloppy Joe’s last night. Girls were dancing on the picnic tables. It was two more streets before we got off Duval. The laneway, the one-hit, the yellow hotel. After the sunset, I knew where I’d be.  

  

     

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©2007 Tamara Faith Berger and Nerve.com.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Tamara Faith Berger has written two books, Lie With Me and A Woman Alone at Night, forthcoming from Soft Skull Press. She lives and works in Toronto.