Chapter 17
The rest of that summer went by like a film, so quickly, frame after frame zooming past from the present into the has-been, the future rushing on like unspooling celluloid. There were many more affairs of group love, with a few new people, but mostly with those same ones that had been at the first meeting. Brutus showed her around the city, closing his shop on some of the nicest days, when the oppressive cloud blanket was not there and when the heat was not as intolerable as it usually was after spring departed and took its reasonableness with it. They educated each other, bit by bit, but she thought she gained the most from him. He introduced her to some writers she had never known, Kafka being one she exceedingly enjoyed-his dark visions somehow indicative of the mood of America these days, chilling and cold and without too much human sympathy. She also read Nabokov for the first time, amazed at the intricacy and beauty of Ada, feeling that it was more exciting, intellectually, than Lolita had ever been. They went to films, both those of underground filmmakers and of established people with talent. She saw Visconti's The Damned and felt that it was the most brilliant film she had ever seen. Brutus, who was far more educated in film with far more films seen, agreed with her. Visconti was a genius, at least in this film, and he was waiting impatiently for his next major effort.
"The only bad moment of the summer-aside from the tedium of having to spend certain days and meals with her Aunt Lena and Uncle Martin, was in the week before she was to return home. It was then that Lenny came back early from work, ten days early, in fact.
She was sleeping in one morning, when she began to come out of the layers of sleep over her to a warm feeling between her legs. Then she felt the hard lump of a cock buried in her cunt, and she woke fully, confused. She looked over her shoulder (for she was lying on her tummy) and saw her uncle and aunt's son naked, his face twisted with the pleasure he felt from stroking his hot meat into her sucking little vagina.
"Lenny!"
"Who else?" he asked, grinning.
"But I thought you weren't supposed to be back until well after I was gone!"
"Changed my mind. Been thinking about your cute little body all summer and nearly going out of my mind. So I split work early. We've got six days to ball it up."
"Ummmmm ..." she said, as his long snaky dick plunged deep. "Where's your mother and father?"
"Out. Another art auction. It's Tuesday, and you should know where they are."
"I haven't been here much, just to sleep and eat now and then."
"Well, we have several hours to fuck ourselves silly!" He reached under her and grabbed her tits, groaned as she worked her cunt as she had learned to this summer. "You're even better at fourteen!" he said.
She giggled.
He stroked his massively long wang deep into her heated sex pudding, but he was too ready, too primed, to keep it up long enough to make her come as fully as himself. He shuddered, pulled his aching root out of her tight young quim and shot an enormous wad of spunk up over her bouncing ass and back, the largest wad she had ever seen. Four long, drenching spurts of the gooey stuff slimed over her, warm and fertile, as he whimpered and heaved and jacked his dick off with his hand for the last two or three strokes.,
He pulled his cock off of her, dripping hot sperm over across her legs, and collapsed on the bed next to her. "When I get up again, I'll take care of you, too. I was just so ready." He grabbed a handful of hankies and cleaned the sticky come off her back, off his limp organ.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Ten o'clock. I got in at nine-thirty."
"Don't waste much time, do you?" she asked.
He grinned. "Not where that cute cunt of yours is concerned."
"Well, if you want another piece of it," she said, "you'll have to rip it off soon, because I have to be down in the Village by eleven."
"Oh, you can go sight-seeing tomorrow," he said.
"I have to meet a friend," she said.
"Call her and tell her you're not feeling well."
"It is a man, not a girl."
He looked at her, raising his eyebrows. "Oh?"
"Yeah. Lives in the Village, has a shop there."
"Been spreading that butt around, eh?" He laughed and slapped her ass.
She said nothing. She suddenly felt as if she were about to see a side of Lenny that had never appeared before.
"Well, tell him you're sick," he insisted.
"I can't, Lenny."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to, for one thing."
He frowned, then got a childish pout on his face. "You could, though."
"No, Lenny, dear. Let me suck you hard and then fuck me. But then I have to go."
"What's he got that I haven't?" he asked.
"Well, we have things to talk about."
"So do you and I," he said.
"Not the same sort of things."
"Well, what do you talk about with him?"
"Oh, Proust and Geller and Philip K. Dick."
"Who are they?"
She smiled. "Writers. But you see what I mean?"
He sulked a while, not looking at her. "I forbid you to go there anymore," he said.
She laughed. "Oh, now, Lenny, what do you mean forbid?"
"Just what I said.”
"Well, I don't see how you can do that."
"I can tell my folks you're fucking with this Village creep, that's what I can do."
"You think they'd believe you?"
"They always do," he said smugly.
"Perhaps. But if you do tell them, you silly shit, I'm going to tell them how often you've had your dork in my little quimmy pie and in my little fourteen-year-old mouth-and in my asshole too."
"They wouldn't believe you."
"Oh no?"
"No."
"What if I described your dinger to them, the shape and size and coloration? What if I told them about the birthmark on your left ass cheek? What if I told them about the fact that one of your testicles is larger while the other is small?"
He blanched, looked as if he would be sick. "You little bitch."
"You little child," she countered.
"I've proven I'm a man!" he said.
"Genitally, yes. Mentally, no. Emotionally, no. And even genitally, you suffer in technique."
He leaped onto her then, holding her down, slapping her face back and forth, his face a livid mask, his eyes bulging, his breath coming like air blown in and out of a bellows. She had pressed the wrong button. When she had come to the city, at the beginning of the summer, they had been nearly equals, though he was five years older than she. Now, in two months, he had not matured at all, and she had matured immensely. And he was a child, not a man. Like his father, she thought. And he would, more than likely, remain that way all of his life.
His cock was hard, hard from the excitement of beating her.
He was gurgling, hissing and whimpering like a little boy.
Very deftly, she brought her knee up into his balls.
He yelped, gagged.
He fell off her, gasping for breathing and crying from the intense pain in his testicles.
"You whore!" he managed to wheeze.
"You're the whore," she said, getting out of bed. "You're the one who thinks in terms of cock and balls and cunt and gains. You don't think in terms of affection or interest in the other person. I can see that now. Sex, to you, is for your own pleasure-and maybe to bind someone to you. But you're not anything but a whore, a whore of a different stripe. Now get the hell out of here before I tell your folks what you did to poor little defenseless me and to hell with what stories you tell in return!"
"You-" He managed to get to his feet, still wracked with pain. "You can't-"
"Get the hell out of here, Lenny!"
And he was gone.
The rest of that week, she spent out of the house as much as she could, and she did not see him again. And it was a good week, especially since she knew, when she left, it would only be for a little while, and soon she would be back in the city, on her own, freer, with Brutus again.