Dark End of the Street

Radio kept playin’ all scratchy as she pushed him to one side of the bed and made a face with a pouty lip, like she was all mad at him sittin’ on the bed. Her hair was fine and platinum and her blue eyes as big as quarters. She had a cute little pug nose and thick rubbery lips. Man, she smelled so nice. Made his mouth water.

“I’m sorry, Miss Perfect, I didn’t mean to do nothin’,” he began.

Then, dang, she was on him again, straddling him and licking his face and fishin’ her hands down around his pecker. She pulled the rest of his T-shirt off and threw it to the floor. She started lickin’ the tattooed face of E that he had on his bicep and makin’ these little cooin’ sounds.

Dear E. Felt like he could break wood right about now.

He took a deep breath of air and reached up under her shirt, her skin as warm as an oven on Christmas, and tried to unlatch the back of her bra. But he couldn’t find the thing and reached around front, ’cause sometimes high-class women got ’em there. But when he got close, she just slapped his hand away and bit his ear. Hard.

“Dang, what’s goin’ on here? This ain’t fun no more. Miss Perfect, what are you doin’ to me?”

She rolled him over to the side and yanked open the bedspread. She was breathin’ real hard now, her nostrils flarin’, and sort of shakin’ like she was cold. He couldn’t move, like a damned possum in the road, as she stood and pulled her shirt over her head, motioning with a crooked finger.

“Take them off,” she said. She had on a real lacy bra with her breasts just spillin’ over the top. Her stomach was tight and hard with a waist that tapered in before rounding out into those beautiful hips.

“Ma’am?”

Then she done reached up and got a good chunk of his black hair.

“Ow!”

“Take them off! Now.”

Her breath smelled like old fruit and rubbing alcohol and he realized she was crazy as an old monkey.

She grabbed for his hands and put them on the top button of her pants. She didn’t have no shirt on and when Jon reached down, staring right into her heavy breasts, he thought he was gonna bust right out his drawers.

He tried to be nice as he pulled the pants down to her knees and let her kick out of them. But he was about to lose his mind. She had on white cotton panties with blue flowers.

“Dear E. Dear E.”

“Jon! Pay attention.”

She sat back on the bed, her little toes wigglin’, as she watched his eyes and then lay back flat on the bed.

“A mirror,” she said. Her tongue fat and heavy with all them daiquiris. “I love mirrors. Jon? Did I tell you that?”

She starting rolling her panties down her knees, curling into thin strips like biscuit dough, and over her ankles and Jon couldn’t move. He just stared at her beauty. Just beautiful as hell as he listened to her breathin’ and the rain and the thunder.

“E told this woman in Girls, Girls, Girls that there was somethin’ about a storm. It just made you feel so alive.”

But Miss Perfect wasn’t listenin’. Her eyes had rolled back in her head and she was moanin’ somethin’ terrible.

Miss Perfect finally called him over to the bed and he kicked out of them ole zip boots and leather pants like they was growin’ on him. She was movin’ like a snake in the bed, her hands all over her body and then dippin’ down underneath the covers. Man, he felt like Captain Marvel. Felt like he should say Shazam! and he’d have the power of a hunnerd men.

He jumped a few feet onto the bed, straddlin’ her buck-ass naked. He started kissin’ her beautiful breasts and moving his hand down south. Then she done slapped him so hard his head reeled back.

Damn it.

He pushed her wrists over her head and straddled her waist.

“Listen to me, woman. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. But either you want lovin’ or not. I ain’t never taken no woman in my life, but you’re makin’ my head hurt.”

She got loose from his hands and pulled his head against her breasts, growling like one of them lionesses. She smelled like a patch of flowers from his ole scratch-’n’-sniffs.

He started kissing her breasts again and she held his face in her hands. Real hard like a vise.

“You want to do somethin’ for me, darlin’?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She pushed his head even farther south, dippin’ down where Jon ain’t never been before. He knew all about state laws and things he seen in all them Baptist comic books about hell. But, man, he couldn’t help himself.

He stayed down there as the wind and the rain and black clouds rocked overhead. He’d open his eyes long enough to watch Perfect watchin’ not him, but herself in the mirror. She had her hands on his head and smiled. Smilin’ at herself.

Jon didn’t pay it no mind until a mean old wind beat outside, rain hammerin’ until the lights cut off all over the bed. She was screamin’ in the dark as the wind roared through the open door and she panted and yelled and clawed at his neck. He could feel his hot blood against his skin.

He moved up to get the best lovin’ he’d ever had, but then it happened.

Miss Perfect lay there for a moment makin’ kissing faces to herself up in the ceiling.