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Kenny smelled like meat and liquor. He smelled like a Thanksgiving dinner that forgot the cranberry sauce. Kenny's skin up close was as nice as it was far away. He leaned in to put his stubbly cheek to hers, then rocked her back and forth with him on the couch, petting the back of her head.
"Can I braid your hair?" he asked, and she turned around and let him as if she always let him do that. His fingers were so gentle, and she especially liked when he pulled the hairs up from her neck. She wondered how he had learned to braid. The whiskey had gotten to her, and when she turned for him it felt like she was sitting on a diner stool.
"You have Jewish hair," he said. "I like it."
He kissed her on the back of her neck and pulled her back so she was lying on top of him, her back to his chest. On her mother's couch, she let the butcher touch her from behind.
How did he know exactly how to touch her? she wondered. It seemed like a secret that he had found out. Suddenly, Ida felt a pain on her scalp.
"Ouch!" she said, and it happened again. Kenny was pulling her hair out, she realized, and it distracted her in a way that she liked. It felt good after a while.
"I could make a rug with this," he said, pulling out more and more hair and placing it on her chest.
When he stopped, he touched her scalp, then dug his fingernails in. Ida wondered how crazy he really was. She always thought his craziness must be sad and confused. He did not seem like a man to her until she was lying in his lap.
"Turn around," he said, "and lift your skirt."
Ida did this. The light in the windows shone through on one part of his face.
Kenny sat on the edge of the couch, Ida in front of him with her hairy legs. She had never bothered to shave them. She had pictured and dreamed of herself in this position, but her legs were smooth and brown.
Kenny took one finger and peeled her big white panties aside from her crotch. The tip of his finger touched her and he pulled her toward him.
She would never speak again if he would keep his fingers inside her. |
"Now don't make any noise," he said, looking up at her for the first time, "or I will stop."
Then he put his tongue in between Ida's legs and Ida looked down, holding onto his shoulders. She gasped and he looked up.
"You new down here?" he asked her.
She did not know what to say. She felt old everywhere.
Then Kenny pushed aside his apron and she looked down to the bulge in his crotch.
"So you're the stepdaughter," he said, unbuckling his belt with one hand, keeping his finger steady inside her with the other.
She did not say a word, afraid he would stop. She would never speak again if he would keep his fingers inside her.
He pulled her down upon him and she gasped again.
"You're new," he said, smiling, and she rocked against him, holding on, the newest girl in the world.
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The First Hurt: Stories |
| ABOUT THE AUTHOR: |
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Rachel Sherman is the author of a short story collection, THE FIRST HURT (Open City). Her short stories have appeared in McSweeney's, Open City, Post Road, Conjunctions, n+1, and Story Quarterly, among other publications, and in the book Full Frontal Fiction: The Best of Nerve Anthology. She holds an MFA in fiction from Columbia University.
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©2006 Rachel Sherman and Nerve.com.
For more Rachel Sherman, read:
Bestiality
Reunion
Over Chinese
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