Ann Griffin - Skin summer

They laid there, talking inconsequentialities until, his hard now gone, she left for the night. When she was gone, he got out of bed and brought back a bottle of concord grape wine he had been keeping in the half refrigerator in the kitchen. He poured a glassful and drank it. If there was no other way, he would get blasted. At least, he would sleep.

There was a point during the long evening hours when he began to have trouble with his movements. His tongue felt thick, and his eyes were watery. It was the middle of a heavy drunk. The wine was gone, and so were three of his remaining cans of beer. He opened the fourth can and worked on it.

This was supposed to have been a skin summer. Plenty of screwing and money. But it was turning into something else. Because of… Of Susan.

But he refused to think about that.

So he drank.

That beer and another.

Sometime after that, his actions became unclear even to himself. They seemed disjointed. Each act was a quantal moment in time. Seconds seemed like minutes. Then, at other times, minutes seemed like seconds. Each thing he did was separated by blank periods of time wherein he was either asleep or all but unconscious.

Item: He was on his way to Brenda Markwell's cabin. If he could not manage to shoot into Linda, he could find release in Brenda. Sweet little Brenda. Coming into the kitchen with her little tits hanging out. Pretending not to care. Little Brenda with piss dripping off those tits. Little Brenda, warped, sick little Brenda could make him shoot. But then he remembered her roommate would be there at I night, and he stopped, standing in the woods, weaving, try to think. At last, he turned and started back toward the main area of the camp, walked into a period of blankness…

Item: He was in the office, had entered with his key. He was standing in the dark office, looking through the files of the girls who had registered at the camp. When he found Susan's name, he committed her cabin number to memory. He put the files away and went to the door. At the door, he could hot remember whether he had put the files away or not. It would not do to let Linda or old lady Worley know he had been snooping. He went back to check. When he reached the door again, he had forgotten what he had found. Were the files away or laid out? He started back, hoping that this was not the Twilight Zone…

Item: He was standing outside of Brenda's cabin. He moved alongside it, looking in the windows. At last, he saw her. She was sleeping on top of the sheets, for it was a warm night. She wore no pajamas. He studied her body, felt his penis growing rigid. He wanted to go in to her, to hold her. But her roommate was there also. And if he was caught, he would lose his chance to hustle Brenda and other chicks. He turned and stepped into the darkness…

Item: He was standing next to a pine tree, pissing. For a moment, the trunk was transformed into Brenda Markwell.

Item: He was before a strange cabin. For a moment, he could not recall where he was. Then he remembered that he had looked up two names in the files. Jenny Sansom lived in this cabin during the summer. He went to the door and tested it. It was locked. He put his weight against it, but it held. He stood there in the night…

Item: He was prying at the window to the living room of Jenny Sansom's cabin. It creaked, gave a bit. He slid his fingers under the tiny crack that had opened, shoved the window up. It made a dry rasping sound in the cool darkness. He went through, moving surprisingly quietly for a man in his condition. He went through the shadow-filled living room into the bedroom where she was nestled in sheets. He stood, watching her sleep, then moved to her, took the corner of the covers, and lifted them away from her, dropped them to the bottom of the bed. Still, she did not wake. He stood over her…

Item: She was wearing nothing, her small, dark body very fragile against the white sheets. He reached down and placed a hand on her thigh, moved it slowly up to cup her little cunny mound. She mumbled, rolled completely onto her back. He put his first finger into her soup and slowly twirled it around and around. Abruptly, she opened her eyes…

Item: She started to scream. He clamped his other hand over her mouth. They met each other's eyes and locked their gazes.

Item: His finger revolving in her cunny, revolving and revolving until she began to react, until he could feel her cunt contracting with pleasure…

Item: Her eyes. They softened as he worked his finger.

Item: "Will you scream if I release your mouth, Jenny?" he asked her. When she shook her head negatively, he released his hand and slipped his mouth over hers, darted his tongue into her lips, between her teeth. She did not react, just laid there, trying to stifle the rising excitement in her sparse body. When he pulled away from her and began to unbuckle his trousers, she said: "Will you hurt me?"

"No, love," he said.

"You can do whatever you want," she said. "Just don't kill me, please."

He looked down at her when he was naked. "I only want to love you. I won't kill you."

She could only say it over and over: "Do whatever you want to me, but please don't kill me. Don't kill me."

Item: Sam got into bed with her.

Item: "This will be good," he said. "Wait. You'll see." He worked with her cunny until it was dripping, went down on her and ate her until she erupted, moaning, crying but ecstatic.

"I'll be gentle," he said. "Do you have any Vaseline." She didn't, but she had some unobnoxious hand cream, and he worked a glob of that into her pie. Then he lubricated his big staff and gently, gently, very gently worked it into the channel of her pleasure.

Item: She was crying, but less and less as he stroked her. He worked his meat softly as if she were but a child. She had been fucked before, for she was broken, but she was tight from inexperience and did not know how to move to complement his strokes. He fondled her tiny breasts as he worked his dick, and he felt the buds grow, swell, reach a peak just as she came for a second time. And a third.

Item: Sam clung to her, dizzy with liquor, unable to see straight or to know just what he was doing. But he did know that he had forgotten Susan. He was going to shoot. He stroked several quick thrusts, shuddered as the thick load of semen burst out of his organ. "Jenny, Jenny," he whispered in her ear. "You're draining me dry, Jenny." He burst twice, then spurted only droplets until his cock had shrunk and fallen out of her.

Item: He was dressed again. She was naked. She was lying on the cooled sheets, a hand to her crotch, holding herself not so much in pain as in disbelief. He left her there, went out into darkness…

Item: He was in his own bed. He felt depleted. He tried to think why he was so relaxed when earlier he had been so terribly uptight. But sleep stole in and claimed him before he could dredge up a suitable answer…

Item: He had changed. He had met Susan, had had his character dissected and laid out for him, and had found himself unpleasant. And now, perhaps even without his conscious knowledge, something was greatly different…

It was a dreamless sleep for Sam Walker.

When he woke the next morning, he laid very still, waiting for the hangover headache that would soon crash down on him. But it did not come. He moved his head experimentally and was pleased that he was only a mite dizzy, nothing more. He looked at the clock beside the bed, then sat bolt upright. It was eleven-thirty! He had slept through the entire morning!

There was a rattling noise, and he realized that was what had wakened him. Otherwise, he would have slept on. Someone was knocking on the door outside. He pulled on his jeans and ran fingers through his hair, untangling it. He went quickly through the main room, unlocked the door, and looked out at Linda Mock and her secretary Jenny Sansom. Linda pushed by him, leading Jenny by the hand.