Another one in the books...
I just finished my initial draft of this still untitled story. Here it is:
5
Courtney’s house is always open, like a 24-hour mini-daguerreotype of the playboy grotto. Her parents were, if not mayflower material, some of the oldest, stuffiest money in town. Courtney’s blood flowed a deep azure blue inside her veins and the “summer apartment” that her parents provided was fitted accordingly. The request from a girl with a 1.3 GPA to do a summer research project at Grinnell failed to raise any red flags with her bumbling bobo parents, who were too involved with their agendas of social inbreeding to notice. I went to her house because she had air-conditioning, a heated underground pool, a practically inexhaustible supply of liquor, and a pair of tits that defied gravity. When Lucas and I stumbled onto the back patio everything was motionless except for a barely audible whirring from the pool’s heating system. The only thing that could be seen was the pool, shaped like a Picasso doodling of a kidney and illuminated from within by tens of underwater flashlights that caused the pool to glow like a chest of gold doubloons does in the movies. We climbed down the steps to the pool and I stripped down to my boxers and waded into the pool; Lucas was intent to remain clothed and reclining on a padded lawn chair. It was only after I had gotten in that I realized I’d forgotten to take my socks off and had to wrestle with them underwater to get the soaked cotton off my feet.
As I was putting my drenched socks on the concrete lip of the pool, Courtney came down the stairs. She was wearing a jingoistic red, white, and blue two-piece that was made with about 8 square inches of fabric, Courtney not being a fan of leaving things to the imagination. She carried with her a small inflatable raft loaded with a fifth of Cuervo, two shot glasses, some salt, and a quartered lime. Laying the raft down on the pavement, she climbed down into the pool and took up residence in an inflatable deck chair floating beside her. Courtney paddled down towards the shallow end with her right hand and dragged the raft of liquor behind her with the left. I took a seat on the entrance steps to the pool as Courtney sprinkled salt onto my shoulder and lapped it up before shoving a lime wedge in my mouth like a roast pig, downing two shots of tequila, and assaulting the lime in my mouth with her tongue. Pulling away, she tried to give me a come-hither look, but being rather trashed she only succeeded in looking skanky. I was in no mood to trade body shots and Courtney’s advances only further decreased any sexual impulse I had. When Courtney drifted close enough to me I snatched her little booze barge, shoved a handful of salt into my mouth, up-ended the bottle of Cuervo, and dismounted by eating a quarter if a lime whole. After this fantastic display of athletic prowess, the only sensible thing to do was to let my body fall forward into the pool and stare at the pool’s cement floor. The chlorine stung my eyes and blurred my vision as I concentrated on the cement floor, looking through the incandescent blue ripples of light floating past from the underwater lighting.
Courtney disrupted my repose by dragging my torso onto her floating deck chair and held me until we drifted to the side. I good deal of trouble getting out of the pool and after about 2 minutes of Courtney inadvertently ripping my stomach to shreds on the concrete lip I ambled down to the shallow end and went up the steps. I looked over at Lucas, who was still lying on the lawn chair, but was now clothed only in an oversized red Hula shirt that went past his knees. Before I knew it I was being led up the stairs and through blessedly air conditioned rooms cluttered with avant-garde blown glass and Neo-Cubist paintings that covered entire walls. I collapsed face down on the bed and turned over to be greeted by a ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars that acted as rudimentary black-light suitable for an 11-year old who dreams of going to Space Camp. I feel somebody crawl towards me and begin licking the inside of my ear. I swat at the tongue with my hand like it was a mosquito or fly. After that I just feel pressure over different parts of my body: my neck, chest, lips, back. I don’t see anything and I rarely even move. The only thing that I can really sense is the smell of sweat filling the room. This isn’t a normal sweat that comes from your glands, but is a body sweat that oozes out your pores and cleanses your body in a film of calcified salt.
I open my eyes and see a bright red 3:47 flashing in front of my eyes. I turn over and the bed is laid bare. From inside her bathroom I can hear Courtney scratching at the porcelain walls and screeching because of the chaos. No use trying to help, as I plan on joining her just shortly. I walk into the kitchen and the pot is still simmering on the stove. Lucas is lying on a chez-lounge staring at the blank TV screen intently. “You taking it easy in there pal?” I ask him. He grins a little and almost whispers, “Don’t you know it, man.” I walk over to the stove and look back as I’m picking up the crusty knife: “We won’t be too long. She’s got roast beef in the fridge for sandwiches.” With that I sat down on the floor and bit my tongue.
Much editing awaits.
5
Courtney’s house is always open, like a 24-hour mini-daguerreotype of the playboy grotto. Her parents were, if not mayflower material, some of the oldest, stuffiest money in town. Courtney’s blood flowed a deep azure blue inside her veins and the “summer apartment” that her parents provided was fitted accordingly. The request from a girl with a 1.3 GPA to do a summer research project at Grinnell failed to raise any red flags with her bumbling bobo parents, who were too involved with their agendas of social inbreeding to notice. I went to her house because she had air-conditioning, a heated underground pool, a practically inexhaustible supply of liquor, and a pair of tits that defied gravity. When Lucas and I stumbled onto the back patio everything was motionless except for a barely audible whirring from the pool’s heating system. The only thing that could be seen was the pool, shaped like a Picasso doodling of a kidney and illuminated from within by tens of underwater flashlights that caused the pool to glow like a chest of gold doubloons does in the movies. We climbed down the steps to the pool and I stripped down to my boxers and waded into the pool; Lucas was intent to remain clothed and reclining on a padded lawn chair. It was only after I had gotten in that I realized I’d forgotten to take my socks off and had to wrestle with them underwater to get the soaked cotton off my feet.
As I was putting my drenched socks on the concrete lip of the pool, Courtney came down the stairs. She was wearing a jingoistic red, white, and blue two-piece that was made with about 8 square inches of fabric, Courtney not being a fan of leaving things to the imagination. She carried with her a small inflatable raft loaded with a fifth of Cuervo, two shot glasses, some salt, and a quartered lime. Laying the raft down on the pavement, she climbed down into the pool and took up residence in an inflatable deck chair floating beside her. Courtney paddled down towards the shallow end with her right hand and dragged the raft of liquor behind her with the left. I took a seat on the entrance steps to the pool as Courtney sprinkled salt onto my shoulder and lapped it up before shoving a lime wedge in my mouth like a roast pig, downing two shots of tequila, and assaulting the lime in my mouth with her tongue. Pulling away, she tried to give me a come-hither look, but being rather trashed she only succeeded in looking skanky. I was in no mood to trade body shots and Courtney’s advances only further decreased any sexual impulse I had. When Courtney drifted close enough to me I snatched her little booze barge, shoved a handful of salt into my mouth, up-ended the bottle of Cuervo, and dismounted by eating a quarter if a lime whole. After this fantastic display of athletic prowess, the only sensible thing to do was to let my body fall forward into the pool and stare at the pool’s cement floor. The chlorine stung my eyes and blurred my vision as I concentrated on the cement floor, looking through the incandescent blue ripples of light floating past from the underwater lighting.
Courtney disrupted my repose by dragging my torso onto her floating deck chair and held me until we drifted to the side. I good deal of trouble getting out of the pool and after about 2 minutes of Courtney inadvertently ripping my stomach to shreds on the concrete lip I ambled down to the shallow end and went up the steps. I looked over at Lucas, who was still lying on the lawn chair, but was now clothed only in an oversized red Hula shirt that went past his knees. Before I knew it I was being led up the stairs and through blessedly air conditioned rooms cluttered with avant-garde blown glass and Neo-Cubist paintings that covered entire walls. I collapsed face down on the bed and turned over to be greeted by a ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars that acted as rudimentary black-light suitable for an 11-year old who dreams of going to Space Camp. I feel somebody crawl towards me and begin licking the inside of my ear. I swat at the tongue with my hand like it was a mosquito or fly. After that I just feel pressure over different parts of my body: my neck, chest, lips, back. I don’t see anything and I rarely even move. The only thing that I can really sense is the smell of sweat filling the room. This isn’t a normal sweat that comes from your glands, but is a body sweat that oozes out your pores and cleanses your body in a film of calcified salt.
I open my eyes and see a bright red 3:47 flashing in front of my eyes. I turn over and the bed is laid bare. From inside her bathroom I can hear Courtney scratching at the porcelain walls and screeching because of the chaos. No use trying to help, as I plan on joining her just shortly. I walk into the kitchen and the pot is still simmering on the stove. Lucas is lying on a chez-lounge staring at the blank TV screen intently. “You taking it easy in there pal?” I ask him. He grins a little and almost whispers, “Don’t you know it, man.” I walk over to the stove and look back as I’m picking up the crusty knife: “We won’t be too long. She’s got roast beef in the fridge for sandwiches.” With that I sat down on the floor and bit my tongue.
Much editing awaits.