Bad Sex With Steve Almond

REGULARS

posted 8/6/2007

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"I'm ready," Jenni said. Her breath was bourbon and bean dip. She gestured delicately toward herself. "I'm ready right now."

The spare bedroom had a distinctly date-rapey feel: lumpy mattress, tiger-stripe bedspread, a drawer with condoms of unknown vintage. Worse still was Jenni's sudden bravery. She was a sex kitten now. She was going to seduce me. "I want you to fuck me good," she purred. "I know you know how." She removed her blouse and skirt with a doomed extravagance. It was a nice thing to say, a nice bit of nonsense. But she was pushing too hard. There was fraudulence at the heart of her gestures. She stood naked before me, stroking the flesh of one hip, while, with the other hand, she guarded the sag of her belly.

I could hear Drunk Dave out on the porch, asking where everybody was, yodeling his sexless woe. Clete and Eloise were next door in the master bedroom, presumably thudding at the loins.

"I want you to do things with me you've never done before," Jenni said. She walked toward me, or sashayed, with her heavy breasts swaying. She had developed the idea that I was an author of famous depravity, a suburban De Sade. I was now in charge of her sexual abandonment. As if to ratify this notion, she stepped forward and set her hand on my cock.

Despite the blood hurrying south, despite the inevitable swelling of prick and pride, I could see that anything I did would be

I looked down and caught sight of her dark pubic hair and this seemed to confirm, in my woozy mind, my commitment to the act. In I went.

tinged with regret. I gazed down at Jenni, at the thick delusion of her desire, and felt besieged. This made me think about all the fucks disbursed by women on behalf of pity, all the sad, phony thrashing undertaken by the desolate of this world.

And just a little later, I slid my head between her legs and lapped at the sour flesh, breathing through my mouth. I hoped this might be enough, but Jenni wasn't done. She lugged me on top of her and grabbed hold of the required equipment, but before we could commence, the door swung open and there stood Drunk Dave, glassy-eyed and weaving.

He took in the situation: Jenni on her back, legs spread wide, my bare ass up and poised for entry.

"What's up?" he said.

"Get out!" Jenni said.

Reluctantly, Drunk Dave closed the door.

I tried to roll off, but Jenni clenched my hips and smiled up at me with a grim determination. "Do me this way, then we'll go from behind."

I looked down and caught sight of her dark pubic hair and this seemed to confirm, in my woozy mind, my commitment to the act. In I went.

Oh my God! she said, and It's so good! and Yes-yes-yes! All this fakery only made things worse, though I was grateful for her voice, which obscured the soft squinching down below.

The door opened again.

We both flinched.

"Seriously," Drunk Dave said. "You guys mind if I come in?"

"Get out!" Jenni shrieked.

Dave looked confused. "I just wanna watch," he explained. "Like, from the corner." His eyes were fixed on Jenni's jittery tits.

"Not cool," I said.

"You guys won't even know I'm here."

Now Jenni produced a sound of such sharp and stunning displeasure that Dave spilled his drink down his shirtfront. She made the sound a second time and Dave, looking like a scolded pet, closed the door again.

I couldn't even remember how it ended, if I even managed to come, or whether, like her, I faked that part.

This should have been enough to bring our clumsy coital ballet to a close. I had gone soft again. I stunk. We were both slipping from the joys of drink to the pink recriminations of the dusk hangover. But Jenni was nothing if not stubborn. She had set out to be debased. She would be debased.

She spit on her hand and jacked me into something vaguely resembling a hard-on. She went down on me, too. I smelled my own foul scent and watched the fine curves of her mouth ruined. Then she suckled my grimy toes.

I wanted the whole thing over, wanted to be gone from this room, with its reek of old latex and mildewed sheets, away from this woman, her eagerness to lower herself to anything, and my own part in it. Clete, though, was effusive. This, he insisted the next day, was an historic conquest: "Groupie pussy, boy!" He hoisted a drink in my honor. But I couldn't even remember how it ended, if I even managed to come, or whether, like her, I faked that part.

"She sucked you off, didn't she?" Clete hooted. "With that kisser. Goddamn. I wish I could have seen that shit."

"Sure," I said.

"Was it hot? Dave said it was hot as hell."

How did I respond to this? I did what us cowards always do: I told him what he wanted to hear.

*I should tell you straight out that I've changed the names here, because I still know some of these people and like them pretty well and it pains me to think of them reading such an unsparing account of the very bad sex in which we engaged. So there. n°