Russell Banks - Lost Memory of Skin

That’s the story the Professor tells himself.

K: Yeah, sure I was scared. I thought about not going out there at all, just fuck it, stay home again and bash the bishop in front of my computer pretending I was getting a BJ from brandi18, who was a real person with probably bee stings for tits and scared of me, instead of an actress with inflatable boobs and a cooch-light shining on her bush moaning Fuck me harder fuck my ass et cetera. It wasn’t on account of brandi18 said she was only fourteen and a virgin, which I didn’t believe anyhow, the virgin part at least, because of her Facebook pictures which she must’ve snapped with her cell phone in her bedroom wearing what looked like pj’s with valentines all over and the top half unbuttoned and the other picture with really short cutoffs and a too-tight Disney World T-shirt.

P: The fact that she was fourteen and you were twenty-one wasn’t why you were scared?

K: Well, she only said she was fourteen. You can be a talking dog online. She could’ve been a fifty-year-old guy for all I knew. Although I did believe her. I thought she was fourteen, only not as innocent as she was saying. I was thinking I’m the innocent one, I’m the real virgin, all I’ve ever done is beat my banana and watch porn and tell lies to guys that nobody believes. I never even kissed a girl before. Still haven’t.

P: Why are you telling me this? It’s the truth, isn’t it?

K: You’re the only one who’s interested in the truth. Not the cops. Not the judge. Not even the shrink in prison or my parole officer. Whenever I told them the truth, even the guys in my therapy group in prison, they thought I was lying, so I stopped telling the truth. I dunno, maybe you think I’m lying too.

P: That you’ve never kissed a girl and yet you’re a convicted sex offender? No, Kid, I believe you. Not that I don’t think you broke the law. Obviously you broke the law. There you were, arranging to meet a fourteen-year-old girl at her mother’s home, all alone, bringing her beer, a pornographic movie, condoms. Anything else?

K: Well, when I bought condoms I saw this tube of stuff, K-Y jelly, which I bought, I figured on account of my dick being pretty big and in case she really was a virgin it might come in handy. I mean, even though I was totally inexperienced at sex I actually know a lot about it from watching so much porn and listening to other guys. You can learn a lot about sex from porn, y’know. And from just listening.

P: Really? Like what?

K: You learn what gets you off, for instance. And what doesn’t get you off. Like I’m not all that into bondage. Or chubbies. No offense. And guys on guys kinda leaves me limp. And you learn what girls like or at least what they say they like. And from listening to what guys talk about when they talk about sex you learn how to talk about sex. With other guys, that is. I’m not sure how to talk about sex with girls. Not in real life anyhow. I can do it online, okay? Or I could. Like with brandi18.

P: So you went out there to her mother’s house in West Calusa Gardens?

K: Yeah. I took the bus and it let me off a couple blocks from the address, so I walked the rest of the way. It was dark but she had the porch light on and I could see the number. Nice neighborhood and all. Two-car attached garages, mowed lawns, pools in back. I had the beer and other stuff in my backpack and was wearing shorts and sneakers and a Bob Marley tee on account of it was pretty hot that night. I stood there awhile on the sidewalk and checked out the house, which looked normal with lights on in the kitchen I could see and most of the rest dark except for a room upstairs that I figure is brandi18’s room, and thinking about that got me sort of hot and made me forget that I was doing something that could get me in a lot of trouble. Then I see brandi18 walk past the kitchen window. She has a little ponytail and is wearing a pink tank top, has little tits which turn me on more than jugs do, and is sort of short so the rest of her is below the windowsill and I couldn’t see but figured she had on cutoffs, and I’m already getting a woodie just from that glimpse of her in the kitchen. She stops and looks out and sees me standing on the sidewalk out front in the streetlight and kind of waves like she isn’t sure it’s me, so I wave back and she gestures like come on in. So I go up the front walk to the door which is open except for a screened door and she hollers from the kitchen in this teenage girl’s kind of voice, I gotta switch the laundry to the dryer! I’ll be right there! There’s some cookies and lemonade on the counter so help yourself, she says from someplace beyond the kitchen, a laundry room, I figure.

P: So you walk through the door. You cross the line, so to speak. A line once you’re over you can never cross the other way.

K: You got that right, Professor. I walk through the living room and dining room which are pretty fancy with wall-to-wall rugs and designer-type furniture, I notice, even though the only lights on are in the kitchen which is where I settle on a stool beside the counter where there’s a plate with Oreo cookies and a glass of lemonade with ice cubes, like she just poured it when she saw me standing outside. I’m thinking this is cool. I feel like frigging Santa Claus. I put my backpack on the floor and eat an Oreo and take a sip from the lemonade when the door to what I figure is the laundry room swings open and this dude in a suit and tie walks into the kitchen, a guy like in his forties with blow-dry hair who looks like a TV Christian telethoner.

P: Uh-oh.

K: Duh. I stand up and he says sit down. So I sit down and try to swallow the Oreo, but it’s crumbly and dry so I gulp some lemonade and try to look natural. The guy has a wide face like a frog and this orange dyed hair. He asks my name and I tell him my first name only and say what’s his name. Dave, he says. Dave Dillinger. I say are you her father? He says who? Brandi, I say. The girl who lives here. I’m hoping maybe it’s Brandi’s mother’s boyfriend or a preacher for real that Brandi’s mother asked to check on Brandi while she was away. But he doesn’t say. Instead he asks me what I’m doing here and I say I came to see a friend. Brandi’s your friend? he says. Yeah, sort of. We like met online. He goes, What were you planning on doing with Brandi tonight? I dunno. Watch TV. Hang out. Whatever. Now I’m thinking maybe this guy Dave Dillinger is Brandi’s real boyfriend even though he’s in his forties and he thinks she’s fucking me on the side because he’s an old guy and I’m closer to her age group. I don’t want to have to fight the guy even though I’m still in good shape and know a few moves from the army, as he’s quite a bit bigger than me and looks in good shape too. It’s okay, I say. I’ll leave. I was just stopping by. He goes, No, sit down. He has a few questions. For the first time I wonder if he’s a cop so I ask him. No, he’s not a cop, he says. He asks me what I’ve got in my backpack. I tell him beer. A six-pack of Bud Light. Do you know how old Brandi is? he wants to know. I say I dunno, maybe eighteen or nineteen. I was gonna drink it myself, I add. Eighteen or nineteen? he says. Then I notice he’s carrying a file folder and he takes out a bunch of papers and he reads down a couple of sheets. iggyzbro. Is that you? he asks. I say yeah, I guess so. He reads from the papers. iggyzbro: how old r u? brandi18: 18. iggyzbro: r u on facebook? mayb I’ll check u out 4 real. brandi18: u can friend me if u want. iggyzbro: K. brandi18: I’m really 14 like it sez on facebook. Sorry.

P: So he has a transcript of your e-mails? Which he no doubt got from Brandi. Assuming there is a Brandi.