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Chrissy had never ridden south of Ballard Street before. When the bus driver tapped the red FINAL STOP—RTE ENDS HERE placard with one crooked finger, her nerve nearly failed her.
Outside the greasy window was nothing familiar upon which she could catch her bearings. No Clarke’s Market. No Emilie’s Fine Dresses Made to Order. No public basketball courts of assuring sturdiness. Only a boarded-up liquor store and a “family planning” clinic with no families in sight—only a long line of somber girls with coats wrapped tightly around their middles.
Chrissy felt her stomach flutter. Then she took a shaky breath and stepped off the bus. Her reward was a thick wad of chewing gum binding the center of her sole to the sidewalk, spat behind by a person who was not community-minded.
He hadn’t been precise with his directions so she nearly got lost three times. The building’s stoop was smattered with rubbish, weeds, and broken shards of glass such that it would be impossible for anybody to sit there. So he was perched on the balustrade like a vulture, dark and hunched with his stained Reeboks hugging the edge for talons. Somewhere, a junkyard dog barked. His expression unfolded into amused contrition, as if he’d caught her trying to cut him in line at the multiplex.
“Holy shit,” he exhaled. “You actually came.”
She nodded cutely.
His blank, black eyes followed the arc of her ponytail as it bounced. Without a word, he tossed the still-burning butt of his cigarette onto the ground and made to turn inside. Chrissy, accepting that her new sneakers were already spoiled, was quick to grind out the embers with her toe. She followed him to the door where he was doing something complex with a series of latches and buzzers, half of which seemed to be broken. He peered down at her over his shoulder with that same scolding look.
“What,” he said.
“Um.” Lies were not in her toolkit. “Aren’t we buying dope?”
He laughed. It was like, the meanest laugh in the world. Anybody would feel embarrassed if somebody laughed at them like that.
He placed the enormous plane of his palm atop of her crown and pressed downwards.
“Sit,” he ordered. “Stay. Good girl.”
He was gone for thirty inconsiderate minutes. The sun began to set. Chrissy pulled her car coat over her knees and shivered. She stuck out. A man with a big brown trench coat lined with stolen watches flashed a gold tooth at her. A battered blonde wearing red lipstick before 5PM jeered, “Ya lost, sweetheart?” The tops of Chrissy’s ears went hot but she said nothing to defend herself. She did not want to attract more attention to how little she belonged here.
Inside the tenement, there was a commotion. Muffled voices grew louder, punctuated by the sound of shattering glass. A lady cried out, “Eddie, you—you FIEND! I just need one LOUSY FIX!!!” That cruel laugh again. The slam of a door. Heavy feet thundering down the stairs. Then he was outside, a soiled paper bag clutched in his fist. His lip was bleeding. He was panting. Chrissy remarked on this.
“Fucking walk-ups,” he snorted. “Five flights up and down. Kills me.”
“Maybe if you took exercise more seriously, you wouldn’t get so winded,” Chrissy offered innocently.
“Exercise is for queers,” he snapped.
“Eddie, that’s not very politically correct,” she whispered.
“Political correctness is for queers!” Then he grabbed her wrist and they were off.
The seatbelts in his van did not work. He did not honor yield signs.
The trailer park was full of broken glass, weeds, and piles of rubbish. Somewhere a junkyard dog barked. A single flickering light above his door was the only ward against the cold autumn night.
“Why did we have to come to your house, Eddie?” Chrissy asked as she unclenched her fingernails from the armrest of his van.
“It’s not a house. It’s a trailer,” he corrected.
She asked the question again with the right noun. He scoffed.
“You never get high at your dealer’s place. Any user always goes to a second location to get wild.”
Chrissy flushed scarlet. Gosh. She really did not know anything about narcotics.
Inside he pushed aside more piles of broken glass and rubbish with his foot to sweep a path to the sofa. Chrissy sat daintily on the edge. It stunk. It stunk really bad. She struggled to think of something polite to say. At last she decided on, “It must be very convenient to have a home that can move around,” but he ignored her.
Chrissy watched as his long white fingers unfurled from the paper a nine-leafed plant. It looked kind of like the leaves of the Japanese maple planted outside the bank downtown. He produced from some infernal pocket of that vest an object that resembled pencil sharpener.
“This,” he said sternly, “Is a grinder.”
“I see,” said Chrissy.
“You can’t just smoke the leaves,” he went on. “Even if that seems obvious and is a mistake anybody could make. Actually, only kids think that.”
Chrissy nodded. He put them leaves in the grinder and ground them up. He ground them up the exact right amount. Then something seemed to occur to him.
“Chrissy.” She sat up. “You’re. Like. Perfect.”
Chrissy looked up at him with her big blue eyes and blinked. Was she? But he didn’t actually care anything at all about what she had to say in response and so went on.
“Why do you want to smoke dope?”
Chrissy gripped the tops of her knees. She dug her toes into the carpet. It crunched because he had never bought a vacuum cleaner. “It’s complicated.”
He leaned against the countertop and folded his normal-sized arms across his normal-sized chest. He scoffed. “So? I’m complicated.”
Chrissy sighed. She could feel the tears which she used to win arguments beginning to tease the corners of her eyes. But they would be useless against his arrogance.
“Um,” she began.
“Um,” he repeated in a high sing-song voice. You know the one.
She pulled the sleeves of her car coat over her tiny hands. “It’s just that sometimes I get wound up so tight, and it doesn’t make any sense because I have everything a girl could ever want because I’m popular and pretty and get good grades. And sometimes, yeah, my mom can be a lot, but everybody’s parents can be a lot! But still I just get so nervous and sometimes I get so tense I shake all over when somebody asks me a really simple question like do I want to split chili fries, and I get all sad and weird and make everything sad and weird for everyone.”
She paused to catch her breath.
“I heard that pot can help you relax. So I thought maybe this could be a nice thing to do before my boyfriend’s birthday with all his friends and family at Lake Kenosha to make it really special for him and just like old times.”
For a minute he didn’t say anything. Then he smiled. It spread across his face like a chemical burn.
“Oh,” he purred. “This’ll solve allllll your boyfriend problems.”
It was called a roach, he explained, because it was shaped like a roach. There were lots of them in the trailer, skittering between all the broken glass and rubbish, so it was an easy point of comparison. In a mockery of chivalry, he lit it for her.
Just as she was about to inhale, a prickle went up the back of her neck. She pulled away.
“Hang on, Eddie,” she said.
He glowered.
“This is only going to make me loosen up and have a little fun, right? It’s not going to impair my judgement or cloud my ability to think for myself?”
“Uh,” he said. “Nope.”
She believed him.
The first puff made her cough. He laughed at her, SUPER meanly, like from before. “Not like sneaking one of Aunt Gladys's cigarettes, princess?”
Chrissy shook her head, which felt suddenly squished and gluey. She had never smoked anything before in her life. She didn’t even take communion wine. She opened her mouth to say, “Eddie, I don’t know if this is such a good idea—“ when he leaned across her lap and exhaled a silver swirl of smoke directly into her mouth.
Oh.
Oh.
That felt much nicer.
He was still leaning over her, normal-sized arm tented across her thighs half-bare in her cheerleading skirt. Tongues of smoke flickered from the corners of his smile.
He looks like a dragon, she thought. Then she giggled. Dragons. How silly!
He reached over and hooked the calloused tip of his index finger into the corner of her cheek. He tugged as if parting a curtain and her mouth obediently opened. Why wouldn’t she comply? So far everything felt just like he said it would! She felt her mind—sore and sprained like a weak muscle for so long—begin to soften as he cupped her chin and poured more of that wonderful silver smoke inside of her.
Her throat burned and she burned with it.
“Eddie,” she whispered. Her voice sounded strange. Syrupy. Syrup went on pancakes! Oh, pancakes would be wonderful right now. She certainly was feeling an uncharacteristic increase in appetite.
“Yes, princess?” For the first time all evening, his focus was entirely on her.
“More,” she sighed.
His hands crept from her chin to the base of her skull as he tilted her back further and further onto the sofa with each exhale, the grip of his thick fingers leaving marks of scalloped red against the white of her skin. She felt herself unspool with each inhale. Anybody could have asked her about chili fries right now and she would have acted totally normal and not embarrassing. Boy did Nancy Reagan have the wrong idea! There wasn’t anything bad about this! In fact, it was wonderful….
He braced his grip against the small of her back as he—in a dark mirror of tenderness—found a spot on the sofa not covered in rubbish to lay her down. Outside the junkyard dog barked a warning. But Chrissy ignored it. She didn’t mind how familiar he was being. This was because now she was feeling sluggish and sedated, the classic symptoms of “couch lock.” All she wanted was to be warm and cozy.
He hovered over her, examining the dilation of her pupils beneath the curtain of his dark curls. She raised one lazy hand to swat at it. She giggled again. It swished so prettily. He grinned, so pleased with her condition that he didn’t even scold her.
“How ya doin’, princess?”
Chrissy waved her hand back and forth. It lagged across her field of vision. It kind of looked like um a broken television set.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah, princess?” His eyes never left her face. That smile as sharp and phallic as a corkscrew.
“Do you ever like um think about like um have you ever actually um seen your own face in a mirror because it’s just a reflection and maybe you couldn’t even um if it was real and also like do you ever think about how we stay on the earth if it’s moving through space and where we’re going and if we’re all just living in like the dream of a sleeping little baby?
Eddie said, “Hey Chrissy want some more pot?”
And she said, “OK!” Pot ruled!
Then:
“Eddie! Eddie look!”
There it was! In the corner of the room!
“The white rabbit, Eddie! Don’t you see? He’s late for tea!”
Eddie looked baffled. Silly Eddie! The rabbit was running about with his pocket watch! Looking for Alice! She tried to sit up but couldn’t, because of the couch lock remember? Instead her head lolled left and right as she babbled, “Eddie….the white rabbit…can’t you….”
He reached down and touched her the slope of her jaw with those long fingers. She didn’t stop him because it felt nice to be touched, on account of the extra sensitivity she was now experiencing.
“Wow, princess. You’re stoned to the bone.”
She giggled again. She was also experiencing uncharacteristic giddiness.
“I bet it feels pretty good, huh?”
Chrissy nodded. Could he read minds?
He cocked one eyebrow and bit his lower lip at the same time. It sounds like it would look weird. But it didn’t. It looked cool. It was fucked up how cool it looked.
“Want it to feel even better?”
Slowly, from her position nestled between cushions that he probably had premarital sex on and didn’t even have the courtesy to flip over when he finished, Chrissy nodded.
He took the fingers of his left hand broad and taut, like a kid imitating a hatchet blade. Then he placed them on the front of her cheer sweater, just above her navel.
She froze. Her stomach was a spot that made her act extra weird, even though there wasn’t anything wrong with it because she wasn’t fat and looked great in a two-piece.
“Eddie,” she attempted. “Please—”
“Please what,” he said as he began to rub soft concentric circles on the polyester encasing her waist. Her tongue felt thick and cotton-like. This was called “cotton-mouth.”
“Not there…”
He didn’t stop. “What’s wrong?”
Her thoughts were swimming. A strong, clear, masculine voice in the back of her head cried out: Chrissy! Chrissy for the love of God get out of there! But she didn’t heed it. The white picket fence inside her was being dismantled post by post. Soon anything could creep inside.
“It’s not…” His palm continued its work, firm and warm against her stomach. It felt really nice. It was beginning to get hard for her to think because it felt so nice.
“Does it feel good?”
She didn't know how to lie, remember? “Mhmmm.”
“And don’t you like to feel good? Isn’t that why you’re here? Because you’re just a girl who wants to feel good?”
The last embarrassment she would ever feel began to heat the sides of her face. She tried to shake her head No but only managed to flop her face into the dirty sofa fabric as his hand breached the perimeter of her sweater and began to massage the downy flesh of her belly.
Oh gosh. It was so warm. The pressure felt so soothing. It was as good as ten thousand bubble baths or shopping or something. She made a noise she didn’t understand. It obviously pleased Eddie, who snickered.
“I think you really like to feel good, Chrissy. And there’s nothing wrong with this. Isn’t this what we do to puppies? And kittens? Because they’re so cute? And we like to make them happy?”
Chrissy DID like kittens. With enormous effort she lifted her cheek from the sofa cushion. She met his eyes which were huge and wide. They seemed to say, Who? Me? Thus he snared her gaze and nodded so steadily that soon she mirrored him, bobbing her head like a yo-yo he was toying with. All he while his huge hot hand spun those slow, easy circles against the softest, most unguarded part of her.
It did feel good. It felt so good.
She had to have more.
Like a baby bird, she opened her sweet sheltered mouth and Eddie obliged her with more magic smoke. She folded herself back down amongst the cushions, her breath suddenly fast and slow all at once. His hand wandered along her body from side to side, smearing stripes of radiant heat all over her body as she continued to melt.
Everybody was wrong about him. The group was wrong. Teachers were wrong. The team was wrong. He was secretly sweet and kind. And only she could see it. Because she was the special one.
“You can make noise,” he murmured. “If you want.”
She hadn’t realized she’d been biting her tongue. With his blessing, her jaw slacked and soon he was working a harmonious chorus of sighs and hums from her as easily as if he had the sheet music to her soul. He seemed to find it extra funny when he could work a new tone from her by advancing the cold underside of his rings along the ridge of her ribs. Other times he repeated the same gesture over and over, patient in a way he never was in the lunchroom queue. This went on for minutes or possibly hours. She felt fogged with heat and softness. She could not remember what it was to worry.
(This was because she was also experiencing short-term memory loss.)
“I think that feels really good to you, Chrissy,” he said.
“Uhhghn….” she exhaled. His hand roaming all over her. It was a siege and the battlements were falling.
“I think you want it to feel even better,” he went on.
With the speed of a moth drowning in honey, she nodded.
And so when his hand breached waistband of her skirt, she hardly reacted.
After all. She was already moaning like a whore.
His fingers slid up and down the oozing front of her panties with the same unhurried languor. She was squirming now against the sofa, in the way that easy girls ground their hips at dances. Her downstairs was fat and slick against his fingers. Sometimes he’d press them through the fabric, into the cleft of her, and she liked that the most except of course when his index finger would beckon against her-
Her.
button
nub
pearl
FINE.
Against her c. l. i. t.
It was engorged now to the size of a grape. Gross. But his touch soothed the ache and his touch begat the ache and she didn’t know where it started and where it began.
But that wasn’t for her to worry about. She didn’t have to think about anything at all except about how good she felt. That was the only thing which mattered to her now. Her own pleasure.
“Eddie,” she slurred. “I like it….”
He brayed that hideous cackle. “I can tell.” He pulled his hand from the front of her panties to display the fluid which threaded the gaps between his fingers. He looked like a kid who had dawdled with his popsicle on a hot August day. He commanded, “Chrissy—“
When he had her attention he stuck his fingers into his mouth. He made her watch him suck clean the most private, disgusting stuff from inside her.
“Mhmmm,” he growled. “Mine.”
She bucked her hips against nothing and uttered a pathetic little wail. He musn't stop touching her. He musn't. If he stopped touching her she might remember her promises…..
He watched this new display with panther-like interest. Slowly he pulled off his moth-eaten tee. Obviously there was nothing to write home about in that department. His voice sounded bored when he said, “Wow. You really want me to start again.”
She whined. “Yeah….”
But he didn’t touch her. That was the most terrible thing in the world.
With his dry hand he held his three wet fingers like one wielding a yardstick. “Christ. Look at you. Already so desperate for it.”
He knew how she felt. He knew everything. Weakly she repeated, “Yeah…”
He had the look of someone solving a particularly satisfying geometry proof, except that was impossible because he was a D- student which was public information as long as you were friendly with the registrar’s office. “I bet you’d do anything for me to keep it up.”
He was so strong. She didn’t stand a chance. Her voice warbled. “Yeah, Eddie, I would….please…..”
He laughed at her again and she realized that her hips were thrusting upwards again in predictable tiny bursts. It didn’t matter. She no longer had the capacity to feel shy. As the hangman might produce the noose, he withdrew the roach.
“And you’d definitely do anything for this.”
Oh God. Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah. She wanted it. She needed it. Was she saying this out loud? It didn’t matter. He could see right through her.
“Would you sit up and bark like a dog?”
She would! She did! She stuck out her little pink tongue and panted to show him how good she could be. He laughed. “Wish I had a fuckin’ camera. Too bad I sold it for angel dust….on the street corner…”
Why wasn’t he giving her what she needed! No fair!
“Lie down and take your top off.”
She did. He smirked. “Hell yeah.”
Her fingers fluttered towards him, towards the drugs— it didn’t matter because they were the same. Her clutching was feeble and obvious in its desire. He held it close enough to tease. Then snatched it back from her needy grip. Close—then far. Close—then far.
“I see you, Chrissy,” he sneered. “I see you.”
The rustle of his zipper unfastening was the most beautiful sound in the world. To HER. He placed his cock, flaccid and pink, on the wanton wetness of her proffered bottom lip.
“You know what to do,” he said. She DID! She could have kissed him. Instead she kissed the tip. He was so kind to give her this chance.
“Please Eddie,” she whispered to his cockhead. It was already hardening against the remaining traces of vanilla lipgloss she’d applied earlier that afternoon. The last remnants of her bygone life as homecoming queen.
“Please let me suck your huge fat cock.”
Suddenly he had her by the hair. He yanked her back by the ponytail. His eyes were matte with fury.
“It is not huge,” he hissed through his unflossed teeth. “It is actually totally average.”
Frantically, she nodded. He shook her once more by the roots of her hair. “Say it.”
“I—I wanna suck your totally average cock, Eddie.”
“And being uncircumcised is unhygienic.”
“It’s unhygienic, Eddie.”
“And actually even ALSO most guys are bigger when they’re hard anyway so the gym locker room is a completely pointless area to make comparisons and everybody knows it!”
Chrissy stammered, “I—the gym—” before Eddie sighed, “Oh shut the fuck up and take it,” so she did.
Chrissy was always good at giving head. Suspiciously good. Like who even was it for.
Apparently it was for Eddie, who shut at last his shark-black eyes as he tugged her further
down his shaft via her ponytail.
“Oh yeah, princess,” he groaned. “That’s my good fucking girl.”
Through the poison haze suffocating her mind, Chrissy sparked with pleasure. She loved being a good girl! Her stocking feet whapped against the couch cushions in simple-minded joy as she bobbed her head up and down his dick until it was shone with the viscous spit that seemed to emerge unbidden from an unholy gland in the back of her throat. She licked the shaft with the flat of her tongue as she gazed longingly up at her tormentor with her pink spiderwebbed eyes (once blue, forever tainted) in an unspoken plea. He chuckled.
“Baby wants to feel good?”
With her mouth stuffed to bursting, she nodded.
Did you ever see Nightmare on Elm Street? Remember how the demon guy’s arms could stretch to freaky unnatural lengths as he bore down upon his nightgown-clad prey?
That’s how Eddie could reach her pussy now with his cock still in her mouth. OK?
His knuckles slid between her greedy legs and he rubbed her with no skill or artistry but it didn’t matter because now she was just nothing but a big wet pile of need that would come for anything. She tried to moan but it was muffled with his cock which only just made her moan more.
“Yeah,” he grunted, jutting into her hot wet easy mouth. “You fuckin’ love it, Chrissy.”
I fucking love it, she tried to say.
“You love my cock in your mouth.”
I love your cock in my mouth.
“You know I can see it in your throat?” He smirked. “I can see your pretty thin neck all bloated from my cock?”
If he hadn't been gagging her, she would have lowed like a sow.
“I can see you changing, Chrissy. I see you changing right in front of me.”
She knew he was right. She didn’t care. She lapped now at the tip of his cock, a mutt in heat, gazing upwards for his pointless approval.
“Shit. Take your fuckin’ panties off.”
She did so using her wasted gymnastics skills.
“Bend over.”
And so with no coaxing at all he had her splayed wide and ready to receive it like a pig on a spit.
He rubbed the head of his cock along her gooey passage, teasing just to hear her beg which she did not even with words now but with ugly unpolished exhales. Before he took claim of her he leaned over and pushed her sweaty hair back from her ear.
“Wanna know a secret about dope, Chrissy?” When he whispered he spat. She didn’t care! She nodded frantically, meaning only fuckmefuckmefuckmeohgodifyoudontfuckmeimgonnadie.
“It’s so powerful than it can rewrite your brain chemistry. There are over 400 chemicals in cannabis, and over 60 of them interact directly with the central nervous system. That’s why parents and coaches and pastors don’t want you to do it. Because they know what it does to good girls like you.”
He was saying something serious, it sounded like, but it didn’t matter because his cock wasn’t inside her. She wriggled and he held her down firm with his massive freakish hands.
“They know that if you come once when you’re on dope, you get so hooked on how good it feels it that you can never ever ever go back to being normal and sweet and getting invited to Narragansett for the Fourth of July.”
Oooh that sounded soooooooo good, so nice, coming and fucking and coming and fucking and his hand was over her mouth because she’d been saying it out loud again.
“So when I make you come. You’re gonna be mine. Forever. And that’s what you want.”
She looked back at him. His eyes were black and sticky like tar. “Isn’t it?”
She licked his palm.
He fucked her without mercy or sweetness, either because he was not capable of them or because they would be wasted on her. Probably both. She squealed, absent of shame, as he speared her again and again and again, what little fat there was on her ass jiggling as his cock slurped wet and fast in and out in and out in and out.
“That’s right,” he wheezed because he was so out of shape it was embarrassing to the WHOLE COMMUNITY, “You want it so fucking bad, you can never get enough of this cock.”
“Never enough,” she drooled into the pillow where her cheek was being squished.
“‘Cause you’re my little addict slut.”
His cock split her in half. It felt better than Jesus. “Your little addict slut.”
“My little junkie whore.”
“Junkie whore….” Her fingers crawled to her clit which was too big it was always too big, girls were not meant to have clits that big!!! He saw her struggle and reached down to oblige her, rubbing her off in callous ellipses as he fucked and fucked and fucked her. Once more he leaned over to whisper into her ear, the thick spray of his hair acting as a shield.
“You like that, baby girl?”
“Eddie, please—like that—”
“Anybody else make you feel this good?”
“Just you…oh God it's just you....”
She tucked her head behind her shoulder to whisper directly into his mouth, hidden behind that dark veil.
“Come for me, honey, please, I wanna see it—”
“Am I your girl Eddie…”
“You are, baby, you are, and I’m y—”
He jolted up as if yanked by invisible strings. A sneer of disgust rippled across his face. He reared back and slapped her her ass strong enough to leave a handprint. She shrieked. It hurt. Then he began to fuck her twice as hard and three times as rough.
“Yeah no um yeah actually I could take you down to the um the fuckin’, like, docks and pass you around to all the sailors on….um….”
Chrissy volunteered, “Shore leave?” and Eddie snarled “SHUT UP” and began to pump her up and down on his dick like shaking a can of pop as she howled.
“It’s MY turn—yeah because um they’re passing you around and you spread your legs for all of them because all that matters is what YOU want and you don’t THINK about anybody else until your face and tits and ass and pussy are splattered with what they think of you, you’re fuckin’ um sorry yeah no STAINED with their cum and everybody laughs at you and nobody likes you. Is that what you want? Is that the kind of safety you WANT, Chrissy?”
And of course she moaned yeah yeah I want it like that Eddie I’m just your little pink slick tube to use and FUCK she was about to come all over his totally average cock.
Attuned already to her rhythms by occult instinct, he snatched her upwards into his lap and began to work her like a piston as she squeaked and grasped at the ink-stained flesh of his back and shoulders. He grabbed her face and pinched her cheeks open like he was about to force-feed her a pill.
“You’re gonna dump your stupid fucking boyfriend.”
CockcockcockfuckmeEddieohfuckme “I’m gonna dump my stupid fucking boyfrieeend uhnggh….” It was hard to speak through her pursed lips but she would do whatever he asked because it was his cock and his drugs forever and always amen—
“Because I broke your fucking brain and made you my toy.”
OhfuckohfuckohFUCK she was gonna come any second, she was she was she WAS his toy and he played with her so goooood so nice her pussy felt sooooo nice and stuffed and sore—wetness was leaking out her in spurts—she could only yelp as her eyes began to roll white—
“And that’s the ONLY explanation that makes sense!”
“It’s the ONLY—Eddie—the only—that makes sense ohohOH—” and here she began to scream and thrash so spasmodically that once again he smashed his hand over mouth but the violence of it only made her cum again because it was all she deserved, to be hit and fucked and shot up or smoked out with what whatever he saw fit to put inside her because she was nothing but a little dumb victim whore junkie toy who deserved to be here among the rubbish and the broken glass and junkyard dogs and this creature was going to use it until it broke and then he was going to throw it away forever in a messy unwanted broken heap.
And that was what was going happen.
It had to be.
It had to.