Sep 21, 2014

Gasper sex --- This is heaven (teaser)

If this sounds like a soap opera, it's because it is one: Alex has just told John that he's going back to his own apartment because of Ben and sent John off to the festival venue. And, yes, Juliette and Romeo spent their their first night together ... but then Romeo went back to fetch his belongings from Richard Roper's trailer, which is parked on the far side of the festival field:



"Gasper sex," Bob Bienpensant (2014)

... if I’d be in better shape I’d give you a rundown of Juliette’s morning-after performance---the knowing shadow under her eyes, the new body language, the virgin transformed---but I can’t, I’m too nervous and Juliette is too nervous too. Whether I’ve seen Ben she asks (Ben?).

(There’s also a less subtle change, a kinky on the lower side of her neck---dark-purple, ripe, sized like Romeo’s lips---which she’s trying to hide with the semblance of a silky shawl.)

“Yes,” I say.
“And?”
“At home, at my place. He’s sleeping.”
“He went to your place? Why?”
“He’s staying with me during the festival.”
“Sorry,” she says. She means Romeo, not Ben. Whether I’ve seen Romeo. No, I haven’t.


We’re both staring across the field. Roper’s trailer is the third in the line-up along the canal, whitish color, perhaps fifth-hand, looking small and distant.
“You can wait for him here,” I say, “You’ll see him leaving.”

Waiting for Godot, screenshot

She fetches two folding chairs from the shed next to the entrance. We sit down. “Sorry about Alex,” she says. She has her eyes on the distant trailer, then on her cell-phone. I see it coming. No, I don’t.
“‘Nothing to be done’,” she reads.
“Am I supposed to know this?” I ask.
“Waiting for Godot.” (Oh, right, sure. The first line.)
“You read this in school?”
“Yes.”
“I never got it,” I say, “Beckett.”
“Sorry,” she says, swipes some more. “‘Examine other beauties.’”
“Shakespeare?”
“Yes. No. You.”
“You mean me?”


“Yes, examine other beauties. Or here, ‘Such comfort as do lusty young men feel.’ Has universal appeal.”
“Rhymes,” I say compulsively.
“‘Madam, I’m here, what is your will.’ That’s more Alex and Barbette.”
“What?”
“If she has her way. Don’t worry, she would have you too.”
“You’re terrible,’ I say, “a young girl like you. When I was your age...”
“We have internet in the dorm and elsewhere. There are penises and penises.”

___________________

"We have internet in the dorm and elsewhere. There are penises and penises."
___________________


Somebody interrupts us with a feigned interest in Godehart’s crotch ware. When he’s done not buying, Juliette has pocketed the cell and resumed her stare at the yonder trailer.

“Why don’t you go have a look,” I say, “they won’t eat you.”
“Methinks it’s on the wrong side of the tracks,” she says.
“Alex lives on the wrong side of the tracks. They won’t eat you.”
She gets up and buys two zero-Cokes from Luke, hands one to me.

“I can’t go it alone,” she says.
“I’m busy, I can’t leave the stand alone.”
“Sure you can.”
“I can’t.” She’s starting an I’m-an-irresistible-gal-routine along the lines of her ice cream performance (on Sunday, when we first met). She is not really good at it, she lacks the live daddy you possibly need to practice this. She relents.
“Why don’t you ask Luke to look after your stuff?”

Luke could easily add the crotch shorts to his comfort line, she’s right. He’d possibly sell better.
“Go ask him whether he buys you an ice cream,” I say.
“You’re shy,” she says.
Okay, I’m shy and go and ask Luke whether he could keep an eye on our stand and perhaps ponder the transfer of marketing responsibilities. All shorts are priced at $$ 89.-

Juliette clutches her zero-Coke as we walk across the field. The trailer-caravan is 15 feet of retro-style rolled aluminum sidings when I knock on its door, teardrop-shaped wheel-wells, a miniature window covered by layers of grime and layers of curtain inside. I knock again. Juliette stares at the door knob. “They hear us,” I say, “there’s no scope for misunderstanding.”

___________________

He's mostly naked, jockey briefs stripped down on his thighs, genitals showing.
___________________


“Ben,” Juliette says to the door and turns the knob. The bolt gives way and we step into a dusk of Formica surfaces, paper plate leftovers, paper plate ashtrays, empty Kleenex boxes, and buzzy irritated flies. The curtains must be an heirloom from previous owners. Richard Roper sits on the trailer-sized bed and stares at us. He’s mostly naked, jockey briefs stripped down on his thighs, genitals showing. “Richard,” I say. He doesn’t answer. One fly, then two flies settle on the white of his eyes. Juliette screams.

I shake his shoulder. His upper body, recumbent against the bed head, pivots sideways onto the sheets. The flies are abuzz again. He wears a dog collar around his neck. Juliette gasps. “Oh my God,” she cries, “he killed him.”

“Don’t,” she cries, “don’t. Don’t tell anybody.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t him.”
“He told me, Ben told me, the guy was into gasper sex.”


The first part is out now, available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:


Night Owl Reviews
"click"


Go here for the previous teaser of This is heaven, there for the next one, and here for a selection of chapters of the Green Eyes.

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