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She slipped off her skirt and stockings and stood before me, naked from the waist down. I was sitting, now, so her crotch was right in front of my face. I couldn't look at it directly. I began to shiver even though it wasn't really that cold. I couldn't help it. I was very excited. I wanted to reach out and touch her, but my fingers were cold too, and I thought she might find it upsetting.
"What do you think?" asked Mrs. Dent. "Is everything in order?"
I peered at her vagina and tried to see if it was any different from the ones I'd seen before. It was neatly groomed, so that was different. But otherwise it seemed the same. I guess it was a little more red than the other vaginas I'd seen, and I wondered if that had something to do with her procedure. The labia, as I far as I could tell, were of normal size.
I looked up at Mrs. Dent, standing above me with her shirt still modestly covering the rest of her body. Her eyes were shut, and she had turned her head away. I could feel heat coming off of her.
"It looks good to me," I said. "You have a nice pussy."
I immediately felt wrong using that word — "pussy" — with her, but it just slipped out before I could come up with anything else.
"Touch it, please," said Mrs. Dent.
I rubbed my hands together trying to warm them up, then I reached out and gently touched her. I was thinking about what Peggy had been telling me about not applying too much pressure.
She pressed herself into my face, nearly smothering me.
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Mrs. Dent, it seemed, would require particular delicacy. She was very soft, much softer than Peggy. I tried to be scientific about this examination, but I really had no idea what I was looking for. Every vagina was wonderful to me.
"It's so beautiful," I told her. "So beautiful." I was trying to sound romantic, or erotic, but I don't think that's how it came out.
"You don't feel a hardness at the edges? I'm concerned about the scarring."
I felt around the edges, but it all just felt fine, sort of sqishy.
"Look, I'm not an expert on this stuff," I told her. "I'm not even really sure where your labia are."
Mrs. Dent let out a little laugh and put her hand on the back of my head, pushing me into her. She pressed herself into my face, nearly smothering me. Suddenly I was surrounded by this clammy wetness and I could barely breathe. I stuck out my tongue and as soon as it touched her she let out a stifled cry.
"Oh, God," said Mrs. Dent, her knees buckling. She fell down onto the kitchen floor and I was about to lunge upon her when I looked up and saw Andrew standing in the doorway, watching us. I flew backward and stood up.
"Hello, Andrew," I said.
Mrs. Dent flipped over and looked up at her son.
"My chin hurts," he told us.
"Of course it does," said Mrs. Dent. She scooted into the bathroom to make herself presentable and I was left there before him, thankful at least that I still had my pants on.
"Why are you here?" Andrew asked me.
"I helped your mom get you home from the hospital."
"What were you doing on the floor?"
"We were wrestling," I told him. It was the best I could come up with.
Mrs. Dent dashed out of the bathroom and swept Andrew upstairs back into his bedroom. "He was helping me," she kept saying.
I waited around for a while as she tried to coax him to sleep, but as time passed I began to think it would be best if I just left. I wrote a brief note and placed it on the kitchen counter.
"Thanks for the scotch and good conversation," it said. "You are very, very attractive." After I wrote it I wanted to cross out the second "very," but that would have been even worse, so I left it as it was.
When I arrived home, Peggy was in bed.
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I slipped out the door and walked through their quiet neighborhood back towards the main road. When I reached the main road I just started walking back towards the hospital. I was just thinking how I had an awfully long way to go when Gustavas, the school janitor, pulled up next me in his station wagon.
"You need a ride?" he asked me.
"Yes, I do." I said.
He was like a savior, Gustavas the janitor. I would have been walking till dawn. He asked me how Andrew was doing, and I said he was fine now.
"See, I told you not to worry," said Gustavas.
"Right, you did."
I had Gustavas drop me off at the hospital so I could get my car, and then he took off into the night. By the time I arrived home it was late and Peggy was in bed, masturbating herself to sleep. I took off my clothes and slid underneath the covers with her.
"Your face smells like pussy," she told me.
"What?"
"It does," she said. "I don't care."
She guided me inside her, and I thought about how this was the first time I'd felt two vaginas in one day. I'd remember this forever until I was an old man. I tried right then to concentrate on what was happening, to really experience each second of all this so that I would know it was really happening, and not just forget.
Peggy pulled my hand down between her legs and then threw her freckled arms over her head.
"Don't rub," she whispered. "Caress it." n°
| ABOUT THE AUTHOR: |
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Arthur Bradford's first book, Dogwalker, was published by Knopf in 2001, and in Vintage paperback in 2002. He is also the director of "How's Your News?", a documentary film series featuring news reporters
with mental disabilities that has appeared on HBO, Cinemax, PBS and Trio (howsyournews.com). |
©2007 Arthur Bradford and Nerve.com.
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