"Home Land" - Sam Lipsyte
"I need you in the stockroom, Lewis," said Roni. "We've got to find more napkins."
The stockroom is not my favorite nook. It's dark, reeks of decomposing animals, but it seemed a cozy mountain villa here withRoni. Enormous cans of tomato sauce and tubs of red powder filled the shelves around us. Hate to divulge a divine Moonbeam secret, but that red powder is actually barbecue sauce. Stick a hose in the tub, voilà,fresh batch.
It took me a moment to get my bearings in the must, the clutter.Roni wheeled and we nearly collided, stood, huffed fraught breath.Light from a bare bulb fell down her hair, caught the glitter in the hollows of her neck.
"Napkins," I said.
"Napkins," said Roni.
We kissed, our hands marauders, jerked each other to the floor.
Roni's skirt was peel-away. I yanked her giant ass to my face. I was like a man who refuses to lose the ass-eating contest.
It was maybe an ancient kind of contest where the winner wins a kingdom, the loser loses his tongue.
It was a new moist language I gibbered up into her, too. I flipped her over, concocted more delicate lingo for the other hole. Catamounts,perhaps it's best not to get too graphic, to instead let the subtle play of metaphor carry the day, but I must confess I'd never seen a chick bust a load like that before. Her thick hips were sort of tremoring and her juice just fountained out of her, crystalline,stinky-sweet. Roni moaned, flibbered on the floor, a plump exquisite porpoise. Me, I was Poseidon, horndog of the deep, or maybe the Man from Atlantis.
When we'd finished and I'd messed my Moonbeam-issue kitchen shirt,Roni shot up, started to dress. Done, near decent, she knocked a packe tof napkins from the shelf, rocked it in her arms, a paper baby, while I scrambled with my pants.
"Hurry up," she said.
"I'm hurrying," I said. "And don't worry about anything. I know the drill. I won't tell anybody and I won't expect special treatment. I won't act like we're ever going to do this again."
"What drill?" said Roni.
"You mean we can do this again?"
"We'll see," said Roni. "But the special treatment thing is true. No special treatment. Except for this kind."
The stockroom is not my favorite nook. It's dark, reeks of decomposing animals, but it seemed a cozy mountain villa here withRoni. Enormous cans of tomato sauce and tubs of red powder filled the shelves around us. Hate to divulge a divine Moonbeam secret, but that red powder is actually barbecue sauce. Stick a hose in the tub, voilà,fresh batch.
It took me a moment to get my bearings in the must, the clutter.Roni wheeled and we nearly collided, stood, huffed fraught breath.Light from a bare bulb fell down her hair, caught the glitter in the hollows of her neck.
"Napkins," I said.
"Napkins," said Roni.
We kissed, our hands marauders, jerked each other to the floor.
Roni's skirt was peel-away. I yanked her giant ass to my face. I was like a man who refuses to lose the ass-eating contest.
It was maybe an ancient kind of contest where the winner wins a kingdom, the loser loses his tongue.
It was a new moist language I gibbered up into her, too. I flipped her over, concocted more delicate lingo for the other hole. Catamounts,perhaps it's best not to get too graphic, to instead let the subtle play of metaphor carry the day, but I must confess I'd never seen a chick bust a load like that before. Her thick hips were sort of tremoring and her juice just fountained out of her, crystalline,stinky-sweet. Roni moaned, flibbered on the floor, a plump exquisite porpoise. Me, I was Poseidon, horndog of the deep, or maybe the Man from Atlantis.
When we'd finished and I'd messed my Moonbeam-issue kitchen shirt,Roni shot up, started to dress. Done, near decent, she knocked a packe tof napkins from the shelf, rocked it in her arms, a paper baby, while I scrambled with my pants.
"Hurry up," she said.
"I'm hurrying," I said. "And don't worry about anything. I know the drill. I won't tell anybody and I won't expect special treatment. I won't act like we're ever going to do this again."
"What drill?" said Roni.
"You mean we can do this again?"
"We'll see," said Roni. "But the special treatment thing is true. No special treatment. Except for this kind."